


Off Empire State Out of the Moon

by tiptoe39



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Knotting, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senior partner Harvey Specter needs an associate. But Pearson Hardman only hires alphas. (Title is from Allen Ginsberg’s "Howl")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acquiescence_ (malawi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malawi/gifts).



> Thank you to akadougal and sycophantastic for cheerleading and aerilex for betaing. This is my own take on the concept of wolves/alpha/beta/omega and thus may not line up with others you have seen before, but just go with it :-)

Jessica Pearson liked to say that you didn't have to be a wolf to be a lawyer, but it helped.

Which is why her firm hired almost exclusively wolves, and alpha ones at that, with a good crop of betas to help out and keep the alphas humble. But it was a natural fit for the alphas, who wouldn't let go of a case until it was won, who lost sight of fatigue and hunger and self-doubt when there was a prize up ahead and a gauntlet to be run. Not being a wolf herself, Jessica was exempt from the territorial sniping and bickering of her partners. As long as she could keep them focused on the fact that success was the firm's as much or more as it was theirs individually, she could cultivate an air of civil competition that turned the alpha desire to own and conquer into a constructive force. As long as that was clear, she was quite happily the queen of her kingdom.

"You've got it all wrong," Harvey Specter once said to her at a cocktail party, to the boisterous laughter of the assembled attendees. "You say wolves make the best lawyers. But the truth is, lawyers make the best wolves."

Jessica bumped Harvey up to senior partner the same week.

* * *

New York is a city of 8 million people, and the number of wolf packs is estimated in the tens of thousands. To avoid the bother and public nuisance of having to manage full moons all over town, the city has long licensed Central Park for a monthly celebration. There's a whole industry built up around it – pack merch, they call it, kiosks selling meat on skewers and beer and T-shirts reading "I survived Full Moon NYCP" for those who are curious or stupid enough to watch from the sidelines, gawking at the madness. You couldn't get near the packs themselves if you wanted to. Wolves don't need police for crowd control. They've got claws and teeth for that.

Not every pack can fit into Central Park, and not every pack wants to. The pack Harvey Specter leads is one of the latter group. They have full-moon cocktail parties, and all the mating and fighting happens well out of the way, in back rooms and wine cellars, to prevent noise citations and interbreeding. Harvey himself is a third-generation purebred. The last time a Specter dared mate with an outsider was sometime back in the old country, before they set sail for America, a land where you could dare dream of full-moon cocktail parties.

Harvey has no intention of breeding himself, and if he were planning on it, it certainly wouldn't be with a wolf from a different pack. So when Jessica tells him to take a lap around Central Park at the next full moon, Harvey's expression is promptly photographed for the new dictionary definition of "horrified."

"I'm not saying you have to join their orgies," Jessica says with a wrinkled nose and a wave of the hand. "Just see who's up-and-coming. Chat with a few, make some impressions. See who might be worth bringing on as an associate. You do need one, whether you know it or not."

"I don't know it, and I don't need it." Harvey considers telling her that they aren't orgies, per se, but if he can paint the pack celebrations as uncivilized, maybe she'll change her mind. "Why don't you send Louis? He's always wanted an excuse to throw off his poorly kept veneer of respectability. Plus, it's probably the only way he can get laid."

"I can hear you, Harvey," comes a singsong tone from the next office. Jessica smirks grimly. Harvey ignores it.

"You're going," Jessica says, "because you are a senior partner, and you are responsible for helping me keep this firm the highest-earning, highest-ranking, best-staffed law offices in town. Unless you'd rather I give the title to Louis."

"Can't we split it?" Harvey says with an easy smile. "He takes the responsibility, I take the title?"

"That kind of split is perfectly okay if you're representing a client in a divorce," Jessica answers. "With me, you are pushing the line just by suggesting it."

He pouts at her like a miserable puppy. "You can't take a joke."

"You can't take a full moon in Central Park."

"Fine." Harvey stands. "But if I come in to work Monday covered in bruises..."

"I will have made the wrong assumption about you," Jessica says. "Get out of here, Harvey, before your poor deprived pheromones stink up my whole office."

"My pheromones smell like roses and chocolate cake," Harvey says. "Maybe those are Louis' you're smelling." He sniffs. "Distinct odor of deli meat, if I'm not mistaken."

"I can hear that, too," hollers Louis from the other room. Harvey skedaddles before Jessica throws a paperweight in his direction.

* * *

There are few places Mike Ross wants to be less than Central Park on a full moon. It's not that he doesn't enjoy the gatherings when he's there, but the thought of it turns his stomach. That many wolves, that many alphas, and Mike finds it really hard to hold on to his bearings. He inhales, the pheromones get into his lungs, and the next thing he knows he's on his back staring up at the sky and howling as a wolf he's never met and will never see again pounds into him. He can't help it. The pull is too strong, and the tensions are riding too high. He really should let go of the anxiety and just let it happen – he's on birth control, at least, so it's not like he can end up pregnant – but there's a piece of him that always thinks he was born with the wrong DNA, that he shouldn't be where he is, and that, given different circumstances, he could have been the one doing the taking. He's never an omega in his own head, but his head is where the denial ends.

More often than not, it's Trevor's fault he's here. When Trevor ascended to alpha, he became about twenty times as annoying as he'd been as a beta, and that was saying something right there. Mike has a horrible tendency to say yes to him, whether it's a quick fuck or a scheme to take down a beta who's getting too uppity, and the fact that Trevor always manages to make Mike feel like the smartest guy in the room for pulling off his scheme – never mind that Mike _is_ the smartest guy in the room – keeps him nicely on Trevor's leash. It seems Mike's life is just a series of being pulled into situations he doesn't want to be in, and then enjoying them too much to break free, despite the regrets that set in afterward. Just once, Mike would like to stand on his own two feet and tell Trevor "No."

And yet here he is again. With the moon a bright yellow disc above them, and the swaying movements as the wolves begin to transform, dance and fight in the artificial light of streetlamps and carefully tended torches, Mike's swallowed up by the madness. He closes his eyes and sits, huddled, at the edge of his pack's circle, fully prepared to claim he's coming down with a cold and isn't up to any celebrating. He knows the excuse won't hold up forever, but the longer he can keep a grip on himself, the happier he'll be.

Jenny tosses her hair behind the long pointed sweep of her wolf's ears and stretches, body silhouetted in the moonlight. The curves and sleek lines of her body make her look like an expertly crafted vase in a museum, and Mike admires her. He'd surely want her if he knew how. She catches him staring, throws him a gentle smile, and he waves back lamely. She's just one more reminder of what he can't have. A moment later the other reminder strolls along, in the form of Trevor, his claws out and his mouth stretched into a viper's smile. Mike's skin tingles with the proximity, but Trevor's attention is focused on Jenny right now, and she melts into his arms, wrapping herself around him. It's just as well. Mike doesn't much feel like sex tonight. Jenny can have him.

Mike himself, meanwhile, can have nothing. He looks up at the moon and howls a soft, low note. Nobody hears.

It takes him a minute before he registers his isolation as an opportunity. But when he gets to his feet, slinks away from the group, everyone's too busy fucking or fighting to care, and Mike slides backward from the sidelines on quiet feet, removing himself and eventually breaking into an easy jog toward the perimeter of the park. He can stay here, finding some equilibrium between the pull of the pack and the quiet ruminations of his own mind, until the moon sets and he's able to break for home.

"I'm too good for this," he says, a quiet reproach, and looks up to find he's not alone.

The wolf that stands there is elegant in a tailored suit, only the slight sheen of his claws and the hair on his knuckles and face distinguishing him from a regular human. He stands half a head taller than Mike, curious eyes fixed on him, and his teeth glint as they show in a brief smile that lights his face. He's breathtaking, too gorgeous and commanding to be anything but an alpha, but here he is wandering the edge of the festivities, alone, without a pack or even a lover following him, so he can't possibly be. A surge of hope seizes Mike's heart. Maybe he's an omega too, but he's found a way out. If so, he's everything Mike wants to be in one impeccably tailored package.

"You too, huh?" the wolf says, cocking his head.

Mike draws himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest proudly. He doesn't know this man from Adam and somehow it's the most important thing in the world that he impress him.

That, but he can't think of a thing to say.

"I know where you're coming from," the man says, coming to lean on the stone wall beside Mike. "I wouldn't even be here if my boss hadn't insisted on it."

Mike stares at him. "You mean, your alpha?"

"I mean, my boss. In a way, she's the only alpha that counts." He gives a rueful chuckle. "I'm a hell of a man, but she's got more balls than I do most days."

Mike whistles. "Iron woman."

"You have no idea." The man holds out a hand. "Harvey Specter."

"Mike Ross." He takes Harvey's hand, feels the slight bite of claws into his palm, and sucks in a breath. His body is sending all kinds of confusing signals to his brain.

"Mike Ross," Harvey repeats. The bite and hiss of the syllables in his voice – the K and then the S – do something to Mike in a deeper place than he'd like to admit. He closes his eyes briefly, tries to let the sensation wash over him and recede. It obliges on only one front, and he has to force his eyes open so as not to be rude. "It's a pleasure. Pardon me for being forward, but I get the feeling we're on the same wavelength here. I don't suppose you have any interest in the law, Mike?"

Mike starts. It's not possible that this Harvey character is putting on a show of not knowing him, is it? "Are you a cop?" he asks, trying to sound innocent but half-ready to bolt if he gets half an inkling that Harvey's there to arrest him.

But Harvey's expression is one of incredulity. "As though a cop could afford this." He looks down at his suit proudly. "No, little wolf, I'm not a cop. I'm a lawyer."

All the dread drains from Mike's consciousness in an instant, and possibilities well up in their stead. "You're a lawyer?"

"I just said that, didn't I? You're quick on the uptake."

But Mike's moved on to new curiosities. "What's your practice area?"

"Corporate."

"M&A? Corporate litigation? Patent and trademark?"

"You _are_ interested." Harvey chuckles. "Are you looking for a job, then?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On whether you're offering me one."

Harvey laughs. His teeth glint in the light, and a flash of hot arousal lights Mike up inside like a pinball machine. Damn it. He thought he'd be safe from his hormones tonight if he just stayed away from the pack. He balls up his fists and tries to play it cool.

"It does just so happen," Harvey says, "that I am supposed to be bringing on an associate in the near future."

Mike has to shout over the pounding of his heart or he wouldn't be able to hear his own words. "What kind of associate?"

"A bright young alpha like you," Harvey says, off-handedly, and Mike's stomach drops through the floor. His hopes of Harvey being an omega too were dashed the minute the stretch of his smile had made Mike swallow and shift uncomfortably in his jeans, but until that moment he'd still held out a sad little piece of hope.

"So you only hire alphas?" he asks.

"We're very selective that way, but I have good instincts, and my instinct is telling me to pay attention to you. If you've got knowledge to back up that passion of yours," and oh, God, he'd _have_ to use the word "passion," wouldn't he, "you might just be the kind of candidate we're looking for."

And now Mike's in a real pickle. His body is humming, bright and alive with electricity, and everything physical in him wants to give himself to Harvey in a way he never has with any other wolf. Maybe it's Harvey's clear smartness, his class, the fact that he can walk around the pack celebrations immune to their primal pull. Maybe it's just the fact that Harvey's taken such a casual interest in him, and it's frustrating to Mike's pride that he doesn't seem to notice the fire hanging in the air between them. Whatever it is, Mike is holding himself back by his very last threads of self-control. But the chance to leave the pack, leave the test-taking and ID-faking business and work for a real firm? He can't possibly let that go. It may never come again.

"I've got knowledge," he says. "What's more, anything you put in front of me, I'll read and understand instantly. You have never met anyone who learns the way I learn, who adapts the way I adapt. Harvey Specter, you need me on your team. You don't know it yet, but I'm exactly what you're looking for."

Harvey looks at him askance. "A little confident," he says.

"You would be too, if you knew what I know," Mike retorts.

"Which is?"

"Hire me and find out."

Harvey leans closer. The screaming of Mike's hormones is unbearable now. He wants Harvey so bad he can taste him, clean through the air that separates them. "I'm inclined to do just that," he murmurs.

"Ross!"

The singular voice that could bring Mike's dreams crashing to their knees. Trevor's voice. Mike tries to ignore it, even though Harvey's now looking at him funny. "Fuck," he mutters.

"Ross, get your ass back over here!" Trevor's shout cuts through the air like the jagged edge of a razor. "Who said you could go anywhere?"

Mike glances at Harvey. "He, uh. He's just some dude from the other--"

"Listen to your fucking alpha, Mike!"

Mike breaks into a run.

Humiliated, smarting, alive with lust and ambition that are drawing wide fissures inside of him, he bolts down the long sidewalk, heading south toward the high-class hotels and horse-drawn carriages and away from the heart of the frenzy. He can hear long footsteps on the walk behind him – Trevor, or one of the others, hunting him down. It's it. Mike's out. He's fallen from what little grace he had as an omega, he's an outcast, a stupid, stupid rebel who will be turned away at every corner. His life is over at best. At worst, it's just beginning – and it's going to be hell.

A strong hand grabs his wrist and Mike knows even before he's dragged around that it's not Trevor. He takes in a shocked breath that lands like a block of concrete in his lungs.

"You're not an alpha," Harvey says.

Mike fights to turn that heavy breath into words. "No," he manages. "Let me go."

Harvey does the opposite, capturing his other wrist in the opposite hand. Heat's flowing up Mike's arms in steady waves. "You're--" His mouth quirks upward. "Jesus, of course you're not. How could I have thought--"

Mike manages to wrench one fist from Harvey's grasp, and Harvey lets it go; in another moment he's got his thumb on Mike's face and is stroking upward. Mike's eyes follow it until it disappears from his view. He blinks hard, his eyes strained and aching. Maybe stinging a bit, too. "Let go," he says, but there's no force behind his words. He swallows hard.

"No," Harvey says, his voice muted. "No, I don't think I will." He leans in and sniffs Mike's cheek. "You smell incredible," he says, sounding almost possessed.

So does Harvey, he smells like man and sex and confidence, and a whimper sounds low in Mike's throat. In a moment he's going to let this man fuck him, and then he'll be left alone, with nothing, again. He can't go through it. Can't let Trevor pick him up from broken pieces, string him along, turn him into a dependent mess again. For a bare few minutes he had the image of a life without the pack, in a human societal construct instead of tied to the wolf's static life, doing his level best and using the skills that he's held in reserve for his entire life. It was enough to sour Mike on the pack permanently, just a breath of fresh air and freedom, and now he's going to rebound hard enough to land him back on square one. He can't. "Please," he whispers, trying not to look Harvey in the face.

"Anyone would think you were an alpha," Harvey says. "You had me fooled without even trying."

Mike blinks.

And in another moment Trevor's behind them, growling. His claws are bared, his teeth sharp and gleaming in the lamplight. Mike hears a shout of warning rip from his lips. Trevor lunges forward. Harvey lets go and whirls to face him. Something shreds, someone gasps, and a red spatter of blood flies up and glitters copper-red in an arc above Harvey's head.

Trevor crumples. Harvey grabs Mike and smears his shirt with four claw-streaks of blood.

Mike tries to wipe it off, and the blood smears over his hands. He kneels in front of Trevor, checks to make sure it's only his skin that's been broken, that he's still breathing.

"The hell did you do?" he says, looking up at Harvey in disbelief.

Harvey stands back. He's smiling, but his lips are drawn tight across his face. "Gave you a chance," he says, and folds his arms over his chest.

Shouts echo from further down the path. Jenny leads the pack, her blond hair tousled and her clothes torn. When she reaches them, she stops and claps her hands over her mouth in horror.

Mike stands up and throws his shoulders back. In an instant he's grasped the situation, and he knows exactly what chance Harvey's offering him. He has two choices: take it, or lose any hope for the dream that seems to have walked right up and knocked on his door, saying _here I am, catch me if you can._

"What?" he says. "You all can't tell me you haven't wanted to."

"You mean, you--?"

"I gave him a good slash, yeah." Mike laughs. "Didn't expect him to go down like a paper doll."

Jenny shakes her head. "So does that... does that make you..."

"If you want to call me an alpha, you can," Mike says. "You know I don't care for that crap."

It isn't true. He didn't actually defeat their pack's leader, so he hasn't technically ascended. But it isn't unheard of for an omega to finally take forcible control of a pack. They've all heard the stories. And as long as none of them get close enough to sniff, they'll never guess that Mike's genetics haven't shifted along with his story.

But somewhere to his left, Mike can just barely make out Harvey smiling at him. And that's satisfying enough that he doesn't mind skating on some very thin ice.

"I'm going home," he says, and waves a casual dismissal to the pack. Harvey waits behind him briefly, makes sure they disperse, and then lopes along to catch up with him.

"Think you can keep up that pretense?" he says.

"Try me," Mike responds lightly.

"Oh, I intend to." Harvey slides his hands into his pockets, uncaring about the smear of blood that paints his knuckles. With a suit that expensive, he must have a hell of a dry cleaner, Mike thinks with a dizzy whiff of admiration. They're nearly to the south wall of the park now, and the cloud of hormones is lifting. Mike's feeling like himself again, albeit an excited version of himself. When they walk through the gates and Manhattan sprawls out in front of them forever, Mike feels like he's stepped into an entirely different world.

Harvey slides a business card out of his pocket in a single movement. He holds it between his second and third fingers. The long hairs on his knuckles slide along its smooth surface.

"Do you own a suit?" he says.

Mike takes in a breath. "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Not like yours."

Harvey rolls his eyes. "Department store?"

Mike frowns. "Maybe?" He grabs for the business card. Harvey yanks it out of reach. "So what? It looks fine."

Harvey grabs his hand and lays the business card in it. "Be there at 8," he says, pointing to the address on the card. "We'll have to get you fitted. On your lunch break."

"So I'm hired?"

"If you can keep up the pretense, you can have the job. But I warn you. Come close to embarrassing me and I'll throw you under the bus so hard you'll be tasting concrete the rest of your life."

Mike's cheeks hurt, and he realizes it's because he's smiling so hard. He cuts it out in a hurry, mostly because Harvey's look is still so critical, so exacting. The points of Harvey's teeth flash as he skims them over his lower lip, and all the blood that's been camped out, rosy, in Mike's cheeks flows instantly south.

Maybe Harvey's been able to convince Mike's pack that he's a newly ascended alpha. But Mike has the feeling that he's just been put in Harvey's debt for life.

He really wishes he could feel bad about that.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes Mike a few minutes of staring up at the light before he realizes why he's itching all over.

He's used to waking up with energy, less so after long nights, but it's not completely out of his element to feel like jumping out of bed and facing the day. Still, even for him, this is... different. Stronger. More likely to send him wriggling right out of his skin with the power of the electricity flowing through him. What the hell caused it? All he can register right at this moment is a desire to fidget so strong that he's squirming in the sheets. Is it hair in his bed? Has he shed from last night's full moon?

That's right, last night was full moon. And Mike had been in a lousy mood, and he'd slunk away...

It comes to him in a flood. Dark brown hair, blood, claws, a business card--

"Work," he says.

Work!

He rolls out of bed, sending the sheets ballooning beneath him. Lands on two feet. Catches his balance, looks around.

Vertical. Naked. Need clothes.

Into the closet. He remembers just where he left his good jacket, even though it's been a good year and a half since he's had an actual job interview. And by good, well, it's Nordstrom's, which isn't exactly Macy's but it's not Armani either, and by the time he's finished comparison shopping in his brain he's got a shirt on and tied his tie and slapped his cheeks a bit, because he looks so pale in the mirror that his grandmother would think he was the ghost of his grandfather and try to beat him away with a flyswatter. She's tried before.

He doesn't have time for this. Work!

His feet trip over each other in the rush down the three flights of stairs. The homeless lady who squats in the gutter in front of the apartment building gives him a dirty look when he jangles his bike lock on the railing loud enough to wake her up. The key fights him, but he tugs the bike free. There are puddles on the street from a late-night rain. Everything smells fresh and new. Except for his jacket, which smells like mothballs. He kicks the pedals forward and motors straight through the first of twenty puddles. The splashes miss the homeless woman. She glares at him anyway.

Mike's off to work. The last time he could say that was when? Two years ago?

The taxis and pedestrians both hate him. He weaves on and off the sidewalk. Jumps a curb or two, every time bracing in that moment where he thinks he might pitch forward and end up in a bleeding heap. He never does. His bike never stutters. He doesn't stop moving all the way downtown.

Bike rack. Parking garage. Giant, gleaming glass windows. He's here. He's arrived.

The doorman stops him two seconds into the building. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I start today. Uh--" Mike looks down at his card. "Pearson Hardman," he reads, and realizes he's getting looked at funny. "What?"

"Sure," the doorman says. "You're starting work at a firm you couldn't remember the name of."

Mike rolls his eyes. "It's a long story." He's still getting the funny look. "Look, call up to Harvey Specter if you don't believe me."

"If you say so." But a moment on the phone sobers the doorman. "Yes, sir." His brows furrowed, he waves Mike through the checkpoint. "Yes, of course."

Mike smirks a bit. His memory of Harvey is apparently as accurate as his memory of law texts and the location of long-unused jackets. The guy was that dominant.

The thought sends a tingle up his spine as he boards an elevator and stands, awkward and limp as a scarecrow, in a field of broad-shouldered suits. Harvey had held him by the wrists last night, looked into his eyes, and all of Mike's senses had gone into overdrive. Without doing more than grabbing his hand, Harvey laid claim to him, and Mike had never wanted anything more than to just give in. It was an impulse and desire stronger than instinct, an almost religious pull, and he’d started to understand in that moment why wolves are so proud about their mating rituals.

But Mike has to play alpha. He can't let himself give in to any submissive impulses, or he'll lose this precious opportunity. By the time the elevator dings arrival at the twentieth floor, Mike has dug his nails into his palm hard enough to leave bright red dents behind. He repeats it to himself as he steps into his new world: _I cannot afford to take my eyes off the prize._

He signs in at the front desk and is greeted after a moment by a bright-eyed, dark-haired woman with a figure you could cast an hourglass from. Mike has to stare. Even though he doesn't have mating urges, he can't help but appreciate her aesthetically. Pantyhose to pencil skirt to blazer, she looks like a doll you could pry out of a plastic box.

"I'm Rachel Zane," she says curtly. "Paralegal. I'll be getting you set up."

Mike rises and shakes her hand. Just as he's letting go, she tightens her grip and holds him in place. "Get it over with."

"I'm sorry?" She's really kind of hurting his hand.

"The objectifying. Get it over with. I don't mate with co-workers, so if you're going to look, do it now."

"I wasn't--"

"Yes, you were. They all are. It's what I get for working with a bunch of alphas, but the money's good and Jessica Pearson keeps them in line."

Mike blinks. "So you're not an alpha?"

"Hah, hah." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry, do you come from a firm where they hire alphas as paralegals?"

"You're--" Her look makes him feel like a fool for even thinking the words. "I mean, I was told they only hired alphas here."

"As _lawyers._ Support staff are usually omega, with a few notable exceptions." She nods her head in the direction of a pert redhead sitting in a secretarial cube outside a glass-partitioned office. Mike squints to try to read the nameplate on the door, but Rachel is already leading him around a corner and into a windowless, cramped group of cubicles where a number of suit-clad young men are busy banging away on keyboards or talking into phones or shuffling through thick sheafs of paper. "Welcome to your new home," she says, patting the side of an empty cubicle.

Mike swings around to the other side, drops his bag on the desk, and leans over the wall toward her. "So does that ever drive you crazy?" he asks.

She's thrown. "What?"

"That you're forced into that role. Just because you're an omega."

"It's just natural. We're built to support and assist alphas." But there's a sudden distance in her eyes that makes Mike suspicious.

"And take crap from them," he says automatically. Rachel's eyes narrow. "I mean, I'd imagine. I try to treat my omegas right, but I know not everyone's as sensitive and understanding as I am." He grins and winks, does his best to look like a typical douchebaggy alpha.

She buys it. "Oh, yeah," she says. "You're clearly one of the sensitive ones. Get settled, meet your neighbors. I'll let Harvey know you're here."

"He knows, the guy called up--" But Rachel has already turned on her heel and wended her curvaceous way around the corner. Mike sighs and looks at his desk. Laptop, phone, nothing else. No Post-Its or pencils, even. And nobody's looking up from a neighboring cube to offer a friendly hello or a "supply room's that way."

He leans over the cubicle wall. "Hi," he offers.

The guy's either really into those papers he's reading or he's ignoring Mike. Could be either. Mike takes a deep breath and says "Excuse me," a little more forcefully this time.

Still no answer. "Hey," Mike snaps.

"Busy," the guy says without looking up.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just-- I'm new and--"

"And I'm busy." This time Mike gets a half-second of a furious glare, then snap, the guy's right back down to reading. Mike sighs. He's going about this all wrong. He's asking for attention, he's following his instincts. He has to pretend to be an alpha, and that means pushing past all his natural barriers. Hard to do amid the sea of focused alpha energy that surrounds him, but it's that or shrinking into his cube and waiting for Harvey to save him. Which, if Mike can't pull it together, Harvey may or may not do.

He gets up on his desk and sits on the cube wall.

"Hi, all," he says loudly, "I'm Mike Ross, and I'm a new associate. It's nice to meet you. Now, could someone tell me where I can get some supplies for my desk?"

Nothing. A few heads snap up, but nobody answers. A grumble of dissatisfaction comes from one corner.

Mike's first instinct is to apologize. He fights it. "Really? Nobody? Because I could just sit up here all day and tell you my life story. I'm sure that'd be a lot worse to deal with than five seconds taken to show me where the supply closet is. I can go on at the mouth." He gets some more dirty looks, and smiles broadly at them. Inside, his stomach is clawing at his throat trying to get up and out. Mike swallows hard to keep it in place.

"What's the ruckus?" A face peeks around the corner and Mike is honestly reminded of a groundhog looking for its shadow in early February. The man's cheeks hang low over his chin, and two teeth show between his pursed lips. When he strides into the aisle between the cubes, he's portly and bow-legged. Despite his comical appearance, the man commands the room immediately. All the associates are suddenly popping up out of their cubes, copycat groundhogs themselves.

"The new guy is disturbing us, Louis." an associate with a pinched face says. "Can you do something about him?"

"The new guy." Louis turns to Mike, his gaze taking the measure of him. Mike's stomach gives up jumping up his throat and decides to curl, terrified, in his gut. It's not a whole lot more pleasant. "Harvey's new associate?" He steps forward. "What's your name?"

Mike steadies himself. "Mike Ross." He holds out a hand, maintains the smile.

Louis regards his hand but doesn't take it. "Mike Ross," he says, disdain coloring his voice, "why are you starting out your career here at Pearson Hardman by antagonizing your fellow associates?"

"Antagon--" Rage billows through Mike. "All I did was ask where the supply room was!"

"That would have been something to ask Miss Zane before you got settled, wouldn't it?"

"She didn't exactly give me a lot of time for questions."

"Oh." Louis shakes his head mournfully, and the other associates take in horrified breaths like a Greek choir in the background. "You couldn't even get on Rachel's good side? You must have really done something. Don't tell me you hit on her already."

"I didn't!" Mike's not sure if that's the smartest thing to say. According to Rachel, hitting on her is the norm around here.

"Louis. Don't drag Rachel into your hazing ritual, it's rude to her."

The voice is caramel-rich and drawls just a bit. Mike looks up in sudden heart-thudding hope.

Harvey's smiling slightly, cutting a rakish figure in his dark suit at the end of the aisle as he leans against one of the far cubicles. He keeps smiling, his eyes sparkling, as he goes on. "Don't listen to him. Rachel has personally turned down absolutely everybody in this room in spectacular fashion. Except me, of course, but I didn't try. Treat her good, Mike. She's a valuable resource."

He's traveled the length of the aisle as he spoke, and now he stands between Mike and Louis, a magnanimous smile on his face. "Everyone, my associate, Mike. I expect you to treat him like you'd treat me."

Louis barks out a laugh. "And I'm sure you're going to treat him like a king."

"Louis." Harvey pats his shoulder. "Abusing my associate is my job, not yours. Leave it to me."

They both look at Mike, who smiles and fights down the urge to hide under his brand-new desk.

* * *

"I thought you were my boss," Mike says, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. They're walking down the street toward Harvey's tailor, who apparently has opened up his very busy day just to get Mike suited up so Mike had better damn well be grateful, is what Harvey says. But Mike looks at him and thinks that maybe the story isn't Mike's impending impertinence but the fact that Harvey thought to get said busy day opened up. It makes him tingle.

"I am. But Louis is in charge of all the associates. So you report to him, too."

"And what if the two of you don't agree?"

Harvey looks at him askance. "I can't imagine why you'd think that'd ever happen."

Mike grins, and Harvey's lips curl up in response. The connection sets Mike's heart rocking like a metronome inside his chest, makes his whole face buzz, and he has trouble not closing the gap between them, leaning in to Harvey to demand attention, offer affection. It's instinct, but it's also honest like and admiration, and Mike's senses are so on fire with it that he almost doesn't notice when Harvey turns and enters a tiny storefront near the corner. The jingle of the bell above the door knocks him out of his own mind and back to reality, jarring in his ears.

Harvey's tailor is a tiny, ancient man who looks like all the tailor cliches were written about him. Hunched over, with a half-dozen pins sticking out of his mouth, he nods at Harvey, white whiskers bouncing on his face. Mike watches him with amusement, raises his arms at the tailor's insistence, and is generally fussed over noiselessly for a good several minutes. The tailor doesn't say a word. Mike moves fluidly, allows himself to be molded and measured, and Harvey watches from across the room, his arms folded over his chest, that slight smile still on his face.

Nobody in the room speaks until the tailor's done with his measurements. He catches Harvey's eye, and in response Harvey saunters to the counter and presses his index finger against a page in a giant leatherbound book lying there. "Bring out this black one, the pinstripe," Harvey says. "And that one."

The tailor nods, still wordlessly, and shuffles slowly across the store floor, finally disappearing through the back door into what Mike assumes is a storage room.

"So, um... when do I start the actual work part of working?" Mike says. "I mean, most of the morning was listening to Louis lecture me, and then you take me out here--"

Harvey's crossed to Mike's side in barely a breath. All at once he's right there, on the floor next to the circular dais where Mike's standing, and it puts them eye to eye, without Mike having to lift his head. "You'll get your chance," he says. His breath hits Mike's face.

The instincts start into overdrive. Mike's having trouble breathing. Harvey's _right there_ , and it's clear to Mike now that Harvey asked for multiple items specifically to keep the tailor busy, to keep him in the back room for longer. The little darting motions of Harvey's eyes toward the back door are proof enough. And his breath is speeding up, too, minutely; Mike watches the slight fluctuations in the fullness of his lip as the air passes over it. "Harvey," he says, the word spilling over the brim of his mouth and cracking in the cold air.

"I'm going to have to keep you busy," Harvey says. "You're very distracting."

Mike's cheeks flood with color. "I-- I don't mean to. It's just, you're an alpha and--"

"You're an alpha too," Harvey reminds him, but he looks less than convinced. "Don't forget that."

"Right." Mike can feel gravity working against him, can feel his body start to bob forward. "An alpha-- Jesus--"

"But we're not at work right now." Harvey's staring at Mike's lips. His voice is scraping gravel at the bottom of his throat.

"We're a block away," Mike says. His head's swimming, everything's bright red around him, and Harvey's mouth, God, it's _shining._ Just one place where there's a patch of wetness, reflecting the overhead lights, and Mike just wants to know how it tastes. "Anyone could walk by--"

Harvey's hand catches his wrist. Soft where it had been hard last night, one thumb sweeping down over the pulse point and to the heel of his hand. "Nobody knows your face yet. No one would recognize you even if they did--"

Mike swallows hard. "Your friend, the tailor--"

"I'm going to have to lock you in the file room," Harvey mutters. His forehead touches Mike's. "Can't work with this kind of distraction."

"He's gonna come back," Mike says, finishing his thought lamely before Harvey's mouth comes down on his.

Fires light under Mike's skin, and he gives a soft _oh_ into the kiss, his arms coming up to clutch at Harvey's instantly. Harvey kisses him with agonizing deliberation, slow but never soft, sucking Mike's lips to redness with an intake of breath. His other hand settles just above the bar of Mike's hip, pulling just slightly, and Mike's balance wavers. He wants nothing more than to launch himself forward into Harvey's arms, demand Harvey hold him up – or push him down, either will do. His knees won't carry him anymore. They've gone to jelly, melted with the heat pushing down through him under the brand of Harvey's kiss.

The floorboards creak. Mike starts and pulls back. Their lips smack embarrassingly as they part.

"Ha-- Harvey." Mike's hand has found Harvey's chest, the breast of his suit, and he steadies himself against its solidity. "You're not making this any easier on me."

"Why would I want to make things easier?" Harvey sounds possessed. His voice is low and slurs, like he's tipsy.

Mike fights for control. "Look. You hired me to be your associate. Right? Not your-- your--" He waves his hand uselessly. "This isn't what you hired me to do, right?"

Harvey frowns hard, and rage builds up behind his eyes. Mike panics. "I didn't think you did, but, look, if I'm going to pretend to be an alpha, I can't be keyed up by you all the time."

"I can't help if you can't control yourself," Harvey murmurs.

"Yeah, yeah, you can help it," Mike snaps. He grabs Harvey's hand, still hard on his waist, and forces it back. "We need boundaries, Harvey. Ground rules."

Harvey retreats a few steps. "All right," he says, and the pain that crosses his face is all too familiar to Mike – it's throbbing through his own body right now, the sting and burn of withdrawal. All his hormones and his synapses are crying out for that lost connection. He wants nothing more than for Harvey to touch him again. "Ground rules."

"Like no touching me." It hurts to say out loud. "Ever."

"Fine." Harvey's put his game face on now. He's staring at Mike with cool indifference, and if it weren't for the fading flush around his lips it'd be impossible to tell that he'd just been kissing Mike half to death. He folds his arms over his chest. "Here's one for you: You remember you're my associate. You do what I tell you to do, and if Louis or anyone gives you any guff, you come to me about it."

"Fair." Mike nods. It's not just a ground rule, it's an answer and a reassurance, and he's glad to hear it. "OK, my turn. Ground rule: When we're in the office, you treat me like an equal."

Harvey shakes his head and laughs. "Now that's too much to ask."

"Figured." Mike rolls his eyes. He's grinning as the tailor re-enters the room with a pair of handsome jackets. Harvey looks him over carefully in each one, finally decides on a modest pinstripe, and informs Mike the money is coming out of his signing bonus. Mike just stares at him the whole time. Now more than yesterday, Harvey's everything he's ever wanted to be.

* * *

Turns out Mike doesn't need to worry about having real associate work to do. First thing back from the tailor, Mike's stomach starting to groan with hunger (the lunch part of lunch seems to have been overlooked), and Harvey has a thousand pages of briefs for him to look through in pursuit of a logical fallacy that could unravel the legitimacy of the opposing argument. First, though, there's another thousand pages of background to go through, so Mike knows what he should be looking for.

Mike doesn't move from his cube for four butt-numbing hours. At least now the silent treatment of his fellow associates comes in handy. Not so handy is the continued dull aching beneath his skin. Did he really just make Harvey promise not to touch him? _Ever?_ He'll never stand it. Not with the memory of Harvey's kiss still burning on his mouth. There's no way Mike can imagine not having Harvey's body on his. Even now he's fantasizing about dropping to his knees in that swanky corner office, meeting Harvey in a bathroom stall in the basement of some courthouse.

And he can't have it. If he does he won't be able to go back, and then it'll just be a matter of time before he's revealed as an impostor.

 _Confidence_ , he thinks. _Being an alpha is all about being sure of yourself, no matter what. You can think all of this, but you can't show it. Ever._ He licks his lips, tries to wash off the taste of Harvey, and turns the page.

"So, Ross."

His next-door neighbor, a fellow named Kyle, is leaning over the cube wall that separates them. "Where you gonna take us for the freshman dinner, huh?"

Mike can't help a bit of snarky mirroring. "Busy," he says, raising his hand.

Kyle doesn't seem to get it. "It better be good," he says. "Last guy tried to take us to McCormick & Schmidt's. Cheesy. He didn't last too long."

"True." With just the one syllable spoken, Mike's skin is already crawling. Sure enough, his guess is right, and it's Louis. Looks like this will always be the response to him.

"Come walk with me a moment, Ross." Louis reaches out a hand.

"I'm in the middle of something for Harvey."

"Mike. Come walk with me." There's no room for argument in his tone, but there is sure room for another shudder. Is Louis going to make him feel queasy every single time he speaks? This is one of those situations where their ground rules would come in handy.

But Harvey's not on hand to save Mike from Louis' clutches, and what choice does Mike have? He rises from his cube and allows himself to be led away from the cubicle with one clammy hand on his shoulder. "So I thought I would help you with your little problem," Louis says, smiling. He looks even more like an overstuffed chipmunk when he smiles.

"My problem?" Mike's heart rate accelerates.

"The freshman dinner. It's not a task I envy you, trying to find a place that nobody's been to. But that _is_ the tradition. It just so happens I know a wonderful place, excellent food, very atmospheric. You'll make a real splash."

Mike isn't sure what a freshman dinner is or why Louis is suddenly trying to help him. But he knows one thing: Louis doesn't know his secrets. And the relief in that softens him enough that he nods his head and murmurs appreciation.

"Good!" Louis slaps him on the back. "Of course, it's a little bit on the expensive side, but I'm sure you'll manage it somehow."

"Wait." Relief drains into dread in an instant. "I'm _paying_ for this?"

Louis gives him an incredulous look "Well, it's your welcome party, after all!" he says, and laughs as though Mike's just declared the sky was pink and the sun blue. Slapping Mike on the back a few times, he heads back to his office. "I'll make reservations at La Palais for Thursday night, then? I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."

Mike waves back, still not sure how to take Louis' sudden interest in his welfare. Across the hall, he sees Rachel Zane busy on the phone. He nods at her, and she rolls her eyes in return. That interaction feels a hell of a lot more genuine than a thousand of Louis Litt's chipmunk smiles.

"How's the reading coming?" Mike jumps. Harvey's behind him, head tilted, briefcase dangling from one curled hand. His pose is easy, languid, and Mike has to fight back the sudden rush of want. They're going to smell his pheromones from the cube farm and come running. He looks down at his shoes. "Found me my loophole yet?" Harvey goes on.

"Um, no." Mike takes a deep breath and manages to face Harvey again. Ground rules, they have ground rules. He can depend on that. "Where are you headed?"

"Home." Harvey shrugs. "It's after six."

Saved by the bell. "Oh. Hey, if you wait a few minutes I'll walk down with you."

"I'm sorry?"

Mike grins and points toward the cubicle farm. "Yeah, I just have to get my things."

Harvey's expression hardens. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Um, home?" Mike's eyebrows arch. "Because it's after six?"

His words draw a full-throated laugh from Harvey. "I'm sorry." His face goes abruptly cold. "When I said I needed that loophole, I meant by tomorrow."

Mike's face falls. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Harvey crosses his arms. "I want it on my desk when I come in tomorrow morning at eight. Along with a written report on any relevant difficulties and supporting case law. Happy hunting." He leans forward, and his voice lowers. "I'd give you a kiss for luck, but we have ground rules."

"I. Uh. Yeah. Ground rules," is all that Mike can manage. A second later, he's watching Harvey board an elevator, still standing dumbly in the middle of the office. Heaving a sigh, he trudges back to his desk. It's going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

The door to the file room is tucked away between a janitor's closet and a stairwell, shelves and shelves of boxes as forgotten as their contents. There's not even a security camera in the room, Mike notices apropos of nothing, as though nobody considers the information here worth stealing. Most of the clients are dead or gone, social security numbers of the rich and famous now obsolete and buried so well among thousands of pages of starchy legal briefs that it wouldn't be worth searching for. But the remoteness or the anonymity of the room aren't what bring Mike there at eleven p.m. after seven hours of cubicle-sitting. Nor, for that matter, are the files themselves, though the proximity is probably helpful in case he has to look up something even older than the octogenarian client he's doing all this research for.

No, he's here because the file room is the coldest room in the building.

There's a vent on the ceiling blasting cold air directly down from the roof. The careful climate control of the rest of the building is abandoned here, and Mike's skin prickles with goosebumps as he places the night's reading on the small card table and settles into the folding chair behind it. His cubicle is altogether too comfortable. He'll fall asleep if he stays there. He needs to be shocked awake.

On his way here he passed by Rachel Zane's office. Their eyes met, and she'd followed his movement as he passed by. He doesn't know how to feel about that, about her. He gets the feeling she is just waiting for an excuse to hate him; at once he wants to ease her trepidation, lest she make his life miserable, and push her away, lest she realize that his lack of alpha-level asshattery actually means lack of alpha-level hormones. Something about her raises his hackles, even in the short time he had to get acquainted, and he has the feeling he will need to tread extra carefully where she's concerned.

The memory of her stare kicks him into full wakefulness, even more than the blasting draft from the vent, and he opens up the brief he'd been working through and, determined, starts to read.

The knock comes a half-hour later, and he's so focused on the material in front of him he almost doesn't hear it. A second series of raps and he looks up, ears pricking with the echo of the noise, and before he can rise to open the door it creaks open on its own and a waft of sweet and spicy scents assault his nostrils. His stomach groans with suddenly remembered neglect.

Rachel comes in and starts to lay out a spread of takeout Chinese on the table. Mike panics. "Careful," he says, gathering up the briefs, afraid of Harvey's reaction should they be stained with moo shu pork. Rachel ignores him, finishes laying out the food, pulls a stepladder from the corner, and sits on its second rung, legs crossed pertly. Mike meets her eyes. "What's all this?"

"Where I come from they call it dinner," she says, pulling chopsticks from the paper bag and breaking them with neat precision.

"Yeah, but why..." Mike gazes at her; her eyes flash, and he gives up on asking. "Thanks."

She nods and plunges her chopsticks into a paper container full of thickly glazed chicken pieces. "So Harvey's pushed you into the deep end," she says. "An all-nighter first thing, hmm?"

"Looks like it. No deeper than you, though."

"True, but I'm used to it." She brushes her hair back from her face and chews thoughtfully for a minute. "So I meant to apologize to you."

"Huh?" Mike blinks. "For what?"

"Assuming the worst. I heard that Louis chewed you out. Someone should have warned you about him. Don't take him too seriously. He's a good lawyer, but nobody accuses him of being the most likable guy in the world. Even Miss Pearson. Everyone's very aware of the fact that he can be a grade-A prick."

"I'm still confused," Mike confesses, feeling gauche as he plunges a fork into a container and skewers a strip of beef. "You acted like you expected everyone to be a prick."

"Yeah, and that wasn't fair. The more I think about it, the more I realize Harvey must have chosen you because you're different."

"Different?" Mike's heart flutters, and the air vent blasts a puff of cold air down onto him, worsening the flutter into a whole-body shiver.

"Harvey's tough, but he's not a jerk," Rachel says. "And there's no way he'd choose a jerk to be his associate. You have to be different somehow. I assumed too much, and for that I'm sorry." She reaches out and touches his hand.

His body rebels, and he jerks away. "You-- you don't have to apologize," he says. "I'm not mad at you or anything."

She blinks at him, her eyes wide and blank, and he realizes how odd this must seem to her – it's an omega's job to be conciliatory and apologetic, and an alpha would never react as passively as he's acting. It's late and he's exhausted, but he's letting his facade slip, and that's a step toward a cliff he can't afford to drop from, not this soon.

He clears his throat and sits up straight. "Besides," he says. "You brought me dinner. I'd be a real jerk to hold a grudge against you after that." He gives her a smile and, though it feels forced, a wink.

Her face lights up. "Good. But that doesn't mean you get to start being a jerk to me now."

"Never crossed my mind."

"Or hit on me."

He pretends to be put out, shaking his head. "Oh, all right."

Rachel relaxes then, and they eat in silence for a little while. Mike appraises her bit by bit, taking note of her body, her stance, and the shifting expressions on her face. A lot is going on upstairs, he thinks, and it makes him happy to know he's not the only omega whose brain works overtime. He suspects she's thinking about her own cases. Either that or some incredibly active social life he doesn't yet know about, but somehow he doubts it. Killer body or no, she's still here at midnight instead of out at some swanky dinner.

Which reminds him. He clears his throat. "So, um, assuming you're not working late Thursday night..."

She looks up, cheek stretched around a piece of chicken like she's a squirrel. He fights back a laugh. She swallows. "Hm?"

"Could I convince you to come out to La Palais?"

Her whole face drains of color. "I'm sorry," she says slowly, " _what_ did you just ask me?"

"Um." Mike panics. "La Palais. My, uh, my freshman thing. Dinner. Thing. It's Thursday, and Louis said--"

"Oh." She nods, and her horror goes almost immediately to a smirk. "Louis suggested it. I get it."

"I don't!" He's starting to feel helpless.

"Then figure it out." She reaches over and pats his shoulder. "I've got to get back to work."

He watches her as she retreats, hips swinging like she's some Jessica Rabbit cliché of sexuality, and he really, really wishes there was anything he could do about that. If only he really had punched out Trevor. If only he really were an alpha.

It would sure make things easier with Harvey.

But then he wouldn't have the memory of Harvey's kiss, the feel of Harvey's face so near his, and the magnetism that had taken hold of him from the moment Harvey sauntered into his life, aloof and unforgettable. And Mike thinks he'd rather be an omega forever with just the memory of that than be an alpha and never be able to feel it again.

His pack tells stories of the old country, when two wolves met under the full moon and joined so fundamentally at the bottom of their souls that they couldn't be parted ever again, not by natural or artificial means. Not even biology could break the bonded. An alpha would stay alpha for his mate forever, even if overthrown; an omega could ascend to the top of his pack and yet he'd always stay submissive to the alpha whose soul belonged to his. Modern wolves look down on that kind of fairy tale, but Mike's grandmother has told him many a time: "It is as rare as it is real, Mike. You'll never find it if you're looking for proof, but if you have faith, then perhaps..."

Mike has always come down firmly on the modern side of the equation, but the way his grandmother smiles when she tells him that story always makes him want to believe.

And now, he wants it to be true. Despite himself, as he plunges through the hundreds of pages and the night wears on, as he finds a piece of the puzzle he's set to solve and imagines Harvey's face when Mike proudly presents his findings in the morning, Mike wants to throw his ground rules away and find out, once and for all, if his meeting with Harvey under the full moon was everything his grandmother used to speak of. He wants Harvey here.

And then Harvey is here.

The first rays of sunrise filter into the room as the door opens. Harvey's carrying a hanger from which a long plastic bag trails. "I brought your suit," he says, and his voice is low, but even. The voice of an alpha. He wouldn't know how to show uncertainty if he wanted to.

"What time is it?"

"Five-twenty," Harvey says.

Mike laughs nervously. "How late does that tailor work?"

"He's very dedicated," Harvey says, without an inch of humor. His eyebrows lie flat against his forehead. Mike stares at them, inexplicably fascinated. The smile fades from his mouth.

Harvey steps to the side, finds a shelf with a metal knob protruding from one side, and hangs the suit. "You should change," he says.

Mike nods. Harvey doesn't move.

"Um," Mike says. "While you're here?"

Harvey doesn't respond. Why should he? He's an alpha. It's his right to watch an omega get butt-naked if he wants to see it.

Mike knows, intellectually, that he ought to insist. But Harvey's eyes are on his, level and expectant, and Mike's been thinking so long about this with only the empty file room to echo his thoughts, and lack of sleep is dizzying him. He gives it one last college try. "I'm not changing with you watching me," he says, and the words come out stuttering and stilted, a lie before they're spoken.

"No ground rules about watching," Harvey says.

"You bastard."

"Stop stalling, or I'll take your shirt off myself."

"You can't touch." Mike's lips are trembling.

"Not you. I can touch your suit."

"Fuck," Mike breathes, and pulls off his shirt. Bare-chested, goosebumps rippling his flesh, he stares at Harvey defiantly. "Happy?"

A small smile very nearly paints the corners of Harvey's mouth, but it disappears as soon as it shows, and Harvey's eyes sharpen. "Pants."

"Harvey, no." As though taking them off would show anything Mike's not already showing, plain as day, through taut cloth and a protruding fly that probably looks silly as hell.

"Do it, Ross." Shit. Being called by his last name has always been a weakness of Mike's. He shudders, and his hands move automatically to his zipper before he has the presence of mind to tame them.

"Is this some kind of a test?" he manages to ask. His voice shakes as violently as his hands. "You trying to see how much pressure I can stand?"

"Test?" Harvey's face falters briefly. It's just a moment, but satisfaction surges through Mike at having one-upped him, even for a microsecond. "Why would I test you? I already hired you."

"I-- I don't know," Mike admits. "Maybe you're having second thoughts."

Harvey steps to the table, looks down briefly at Mike's notes, and smiles. "No second thoughts," he says. "Good work."

The smile infuriates Mike more than anything. "Then why are you doing this to me?"

Harvey meets his eyes. There's an honesty and a directness in his gaze that shoots Mike right through the heart.

"Because there are no cameras in here," he says.

Mike swallows hard. Somewhere outside the windows, thirty stories down, an ambulance begins to wail.

Harvey catches him by the waist, backs him up against the shelves full of file boxes, and Mike clutches for a handhold as Harvey kisses him hard enough to bruise. Warm palms slide against his sides, dip down to cup him close, and Mike groans into Harvey's mouth and wraps one leg around his waist. A shift and a lift and both legs are up, Mike's pinned between the shelf and Harvey's hips, riding him. Harvey's tongue is assaulting his mouth, licking sharp stripes along his hard palate, and Mike keens, wrapping both hands around Harvey's neck and holding on for dear life.

It feels right, _God,_ it feels so fucking perfect, and Mike doesn't think about stopping him, couldn't stop now if he wanted to. It's not the same as when Trevor fucks him, when Mike knows he's moving but can't help thinking what now, what afterward, when every moment is a fresh decision to go with the good feelings and screw the rest. The stakes now are deeper and higher than they ever were with Trevor, but the indecision is gone. Harvey's cock against his is twenty kinds of perfect, and the bulge at the base is throbbing dull heat into him, promising so much more than they have time for right now. Mike swallows hard, sucks on Harvey's tongue and arches up against him, breaking the kiss only to pant raggedly in Harvey's ear. "Fuck me, Harvey."

Harvey's words overlap his. "Gotta have you, can't stand it."

 _Harvey_ can't stand it. Harvey's as crazy with lust as he is. That's a triumph. Mike smiles against Harvey's neck and grinds down purposefully. Harvey groans loud enough to hurt his ear, and it just makes Mike smile harder.

The card table isn't sturdy enough to support their weight, and the file boxes are shaking, so Harvey throws Mike's discarded jacket and shirt onto the floor, a makeshift blanket. Mike backs toward it and starts to unbutton his own pants, but Harvey stops him. He forces Mike's fingers to his sides and then drops to one knee, nuzzling Mike's cock through his pants before slowly working them down. Mike swallows and moans, his eyes wide, watching Harvey's every move. Harvey on his knees for Mike. Taking out Mike's cock and nuzzling at it again, whispering endearments Mike can't hear, then drawing a sharp cry from Mike's mouth when he sucks on the head of it for a bare moment. When it emerges from between Harvey's lips, Mike's cock is red, glistening, and the suck-pop sound Harvey's mouth made rings in Mike's ears.

"On your hands and knees," Harvey whispers, his voice thick with want, and Mike has never moved so fast in his life.

Harvey's retreated a moment, and he's fussing with the plastic cover on the suit he's brought for Mike. Mike looks over his shoulder, befuddled until Harvey fishes out a bottle of lube. "This stays in your jacket pocket all the time," he orders. "You always keep one on you. Just in case."

Mike nods, gritting his teeth to keep his bones from melting at what Harvey's implying.

"Good boy." Harvey kneels behind him, pets the small of his back, and a whimper escapes Mike's throat. He rears back, tries to finesse Harvey's hand onto his ass instead of his back, but the most he gets is a hissed intake of breath through Harvey's teeth. "God, you're so eager," Harvey murmurs. "You can't wait, can you?"

"No," Mike admits readily, "no, I can't. Harvey--"

Coolness at his entrance, one of Harvey's fingers, massaging his rim, and Mike's going to die. "Good omegas say please."

"I'm not--"

Harvey leans in, his body lightning-fast, and steals a kiss from Mike's mouth. "Not out there," he says. "In here you're all mine."

His finger jabs in, swirls once, then disappears again, and the word comes out unbidden. "Please."

"That's a good boy."

It feels like forever before Harvey finally fucks him, and Mike's not used to being opened up so deliberately, or teasingly. Trevor used to jack him off to excite him, but when it came time for the fucking it was spit and a quick loop or two of impatient fingers, then Trevor's cock splitting him open, quick and hot and stabbing. It's the opposite with Harvey. Harvey's so patient it's painful. He curls his fingers up against Mike's prostate and Mike gasps, arches and begs for more. Then it's back to slow, soft circles again, Harvey's mouth against his spine branding each vertebra, Mike holding his breath to make each moment last longer. When Harvey descends to his tailbone and licks it, Mike hisses. "Fuck me now."

"Good omegas," Harvey whispers again, "say please."

"I'm not a good omega," Mike says, and this time Harvey doesn't interrupt him.

Having Harvey inside him feels like being formed from clay, feels like being burned into being. Mike presses his back up against Harvey's chest and groans needily, slams himself back against every stroke. Harvey wraps a hand around his chest, molds himself down around Mike and kisses his shoulders, the back of his neck and his ear. So much kissing, so much unexpected tenderness, and Mike doesn't know how to handle it. He moans, he fights for breath and control, but his whole world is Harvey. Harvey's the dome of the sky over him, the heat of the sun rising up through him. Mike's transported. He hears his pulse beating his ears, dimly recognizes the sound of his own voice, and shakes furiously in Harvey's embrace. A few feathered fingers against the shaft of his cock and he's seizing up, every muscle in his body throbbing and pulsing with the intensity of the orgasm that's a heartbeat away from consuming him.

"Not yet." Harvey pants into his ear. "Not until I'm ready."

"Harvey--" Mike whines, tense all over like he's above to burst.

"Not-- _ungh--_ yet." Harvey hisses and thrusts into him in quick short stabs. Mike hangs his head, eyes squeezed shut, and tries desperately to tamp down on the trembling that's wracking his whole body.

"No, God, Harvey, I need to come," he hears himself say. Harvey's hand has closed around the head of his cock, thumb pressing deep on the vein below, and Mike's seeing a galaxy of stars, feeling as though he'll burst into a million pieces.

"Almost," Harvey murmurs, and pulls Mike's whole body back, rocking into a sitting position on the crumpled mess of Mike's jacket. Mike's head spins as he's jerked upright, and he spreads his thighs wide, leaning back and letting his weight drop onto Harvey's shoulders and lap. Harvey's inside him to the hilt now, the bulge of his knot stretching Mike's opening, and Mike's mouth is stretched as wide open as it can go. His eyes, too, staring up at the ceiling, though his head rush is making him see patches of black.

Harvey edges upward. One hand strokes Mike's cock; the other finds Mike's mouth, slides two fingers in. Mike closes his mouth around them and sucks hard, licks the slit between them. "Shit," Harvey hisses, and rocks up again. "That's good."

"Please," Mike wants to say, but his mouth is closed around Harvey's fingers, so he just hums hungrily and sucks harder.

"Almost." Harvey's panting in his ear. "Oh, shit, almost, fuck, Mike."

Mike gyrates his hips, pushes down against Harvey's knot, licks his fingertips.

He feels the eruption, feels the blast of breath against his ear before he hears the _"fuck"_ it half-screams there, his body so attuned to Harvey's that he's coming the minute Harvey is. Hell, they're throbbing in the same rhythm with the same intensity, spurting at the same time, crying out and sucking in air together. In unison, shouting at the same pitch, even. Mike turns to Harvey, catches his eyes for a moment, and then Harvey's sucking the air from his mouth. They're even breathing into each other.

A sticky hand lies flat on his stomach and strokes upward, petting, soothing. Mike strains upward for more kisses, but Harvey's head dips down to rest on his shoulder. Finding his breath, Mike leans against the side of his head, lets the dizziness and the tingling fade into relaxation. "Oh, God," he manages to whisper, but no other words come to his mouth. He feels like there ought to be words. But Harvey's silent, and maybe it's all right if he is, too.

It hurts when Harvey pulls out. His knot is swollen, and Mike knows he must still be aching with the desire to mate. If he hadn't stayed up all night, if he weren't exhausted, he might flip over onto his stomach and swallow Harvey down right then. God knows when Mike looks back, sees Harvey's cock for the first time, he's instantly hungry for it. But there are stirrings outside, the first of the early-morning crowd starting to arrive at the office, and they can't afford to waste any more time or make any more noise.

"You stand under that vent until you stop sweating like a pig," Harvey murmurs, and Mike's hand goes to his forehead self-consciously. "Then you put on that suit and bring me your report. Got it?"

"I-- yeah," Mike says, staggering forward on his knees to find a handhold. His fingers grasp the edge of a bookshelf, and he rises to his feet. "Fifteen minutes."

"Good." Harvey's smile is barely a momentary glint in Mike's peripheral vision, but it's enough. "Long day today."

"Another all-nighter?" There's a bit of trepidation in Mike's voice. Hot sex or no, he does need to sleep.

"We'll see," Harvey says. He's zipping up, putting himself together, and you could never tell what he was doing thirty seconds ago, so complete is his poise. _It's the confidence,_ Mike says. _He's not capable of doubting he looks perfect, so he looks perfect. That's how alphas work._

That's how he'll have to work, too, in fifteen minutes.

He stands under the vent and lets the freezing air pour over him. Harvey takes one last, appraising look at him before nodding briefly and exiting the room. When he's gone, all the heat drains from Mike's body in a rush. It's as though he'd just been standing here naked under the vent all night long. Harvey's taken all the warmth with him.

The new suit fits as though it had been sewn onto his body, and Mike stretches in it, reaches his hands to the sky and turns from side to side as though looking in an invisible mirror. This is his uniform from now on. While he's in this suit, he's Mike Ross, alpha and associate. Unless Harvey says otherwise.

Mike picks the bottle of lube up off the floor. A little bottle of humility, just to remind him who he belongs to. He conceals it quickly in his jacket pocket and rides a wave of borrowed confidence out of the file room and into the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

"Nice suit," Louis says as he passes by Mike's cubicle. The other associates take notice. Mike just smirks.

For a guy on no sleep who got his brains fucked out early in the morning, he's doing remarkably well today. Harvey was duly impressed with his report, and he somehow figured out how to file a patent with only a minimum amount of Internet research and a few frantic calls to Rachel's office. Score one more for Mike's incredible adaptive ability. It's as though, having thought exhaustively with his dick earlier, his brain is now supercharged.

What's gotten into him? Mike doesn't know, but he's riding it just as far as he can, a huge smile stretched across his face as he ticks off all the items that fly across his to-do list, almost faster than Harvey can put them there. And oh, Harvey tries, until Mike's pretty sure he's just emptying out his old case files. Testing Mike, maybe, or teaching him. Either way, Mike takes it in and tosses it out again at the speed of thought, like he's been lit on fire.

He looks up around noon to see Rachel leaning on the wall of a nearby cubicle, chin propped up on her hand. Her skin is tinting pink from the pressure, and Mike gets the feeling she's just been waiting for him to look up.

"You got home last night," she says, sauntering toward him. Before he can protest, she waves a hand. "New suit."

"Ah. Yes." Because _No, the senior partner who hired me brought it as a gift right before he fucked me stupid_ won't fly.

"Good use of your signing bonus. Much better than yesterday's outfit."

Mike toes the balled-up garment bag that contains his rumpled jacket and pants. "Yeah, well, moving up in the world."

"I see." She nodded, looking him up and down one more time in a way he wasn't sure was limited to appraising his fashion sense. "So have you taken any action on that item I mentioned last night? Involving Louis and..."

"You two are just thick as thieves, aren't you?" It's Louis himself, sticking out his badger-like head to interrupt the flow of air between Mike and Rachel. "What was this about me?"

Rachel looks at Mike expectantly. Mike flushes. "Well," he says, guarded, "I mentioned to Rachel your suggestion for my freshman dinner."

"My suggestion?" Louis pulls up to his full height. "I'm sorry, Mike, but that would be completely antithetical to the spirit of the thing. You're supposed to come up with your own place. I mean, what kind of favoritist boss would give a hint to one of his associates without helping them all?"

"Oh, my mistake," Mike counters smoothly. "I was talking about the after-party."

"I'm sorry?"

Mike stands in his cubicle and casts his eyes to the side. A few associates are now perked up, paying attention to the conversation from over the briefs they're reading or the phone calls they're half-heartedly conducting. Good enough. "You know, that suggestion that you might take everyone to la Palais."

Louis blanches, at least one associate whose impulse control is less than perfect flinches behind his stack of papers.

"I mean," Mike says, leaning casually on one arm and fixing upturned eyes on Louis, "I thought a gentlemen's club would be a bit lowbrow, but you know these guys, so I suppose if you don't mind it, there might be some interest." He looks around. "What do you guys think?"

Louis' plot discredited, and now facing the expectant stares of a dozen associates who might never admit to attending strip clubs if it were not specifically sanctioned by their boss, he has no choice but to cave. "It was an idle thought," he says. "Just a bit of humor."

"Well, I won't cancel the reservation you made, then," Mike says, "I double-checked it earlier this morning. Still in your name."

"You're changing the subject," Louis says hurriedly. "Have you decided on a venue?"

Mike stops. His confidence falters. As good as he's feeling, he can't pull information out of thin air. He racks his brain for the last restaurant review he saw in the _Times_ and comes up empty.

"He has," Rachel says. "What was the name of it again, Mike?" She tilts her head. "Dougal's, right?"

"Yeah, something like that." Mike tosses it off with as much nonchalance as he can muster. He needs to send Rachel a fruit basket one of these days. She's quickly starting to be one of his favorite people at this firm. Then again, it's always easy to get along with other omegas.

Which reminds him, abruptly, that he's not really an alpha. He just plays one at work. His body feels like it's caving in, and it craves Harvey's touch, a vitamin he hasn't taken in a half a day and he misses it. His eyes dart toward the secretary's cubicle just outside Harvey's office, where Donna sits, her eyes downcast as she types away. Even so, he has the sudden, sinking feeling that she's spying on him. He knows how betas operate. All shift and snark. God knows what she's reporting to Harvey about him.

It's enough to crumple his confidence completely.

* * *

"Your cub is impressive," Donna says as Harvey exits his office the following afternoon. He's walking purposefully toward a conference room, but there's a tone Donna can use when she wants to stop him, and he recognizes it now in the mezzo piano lilt of her voice, the even keel of the syllables. This is Donna's pay-attention voice.

He turns and strides back toward the cubicle where she sits, her fingers never faltering on the keyboard even as she gazes up at him and smiles patiently. Waiting for him to show an active interest. Donna's able to play him like a violin. He resists just as long as he can, then takes a resigned breath. "Impressive how?"

"Well, everyone’s talking about how he made a fool of Louis yesterday."

"Jesus. Really?" Harvey looks balefully over at the cube farm. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that Louis came over this morning and offered me tickets to the Met if I'd put in a bad word for Mike with you."

"That's not like Louis. He can come to me and complain."

"And you'd deliberately do just the opposite of what he requests. And then Jessica would yell at you for being contrary, and then there would be all kinds of theatrics. No, he wants me to badmouth your little one because you trust me."

"Smart of him."

"Not really. He thinks I'll do it."

"Did you _tell_ him you'd do it?"

"I was very..." Donna sniffs. "Conflicted about the whole thing." She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. Dark spots of mascara appear on the white surface. "You like him so much, and I'm.... I'm..."

Harvey starts. He leans forward. "Donna."

"Yes?" She drops the tissue and stares at him, clear-eyed and smiling.

He grumbles. "Have Mike come by after my meeting."

"And the Met tickets?"

"No."

"Louis doesn't need to know I sold him out."

"Donna." He points a finger. "No."

"You're angry." Her eyes are wide green-gray discs, shiny enough that Harvey can see himself in the irises as well as the piercing black of her pupils. "At Mike?"

Her surprise throws him off. "My associate pissed off a partner. Don't you think that's worth my being angry?"

Donna types on. She rolls her eyes once, and there's enough information in the eyeroll to leave him unsettled. She doesn't approve, but Donna's just a beta, she's support and snark. She exists to rein him in when he goes too far, and he's not going too far, not in this case. There's a difference between pointless anger and righteous rage, and Harvey knows which side of the divide he stands on. And as an alpha his confidence, his gut, is his everything.

And if his pulse starts pounding at the thought of being alone with Mike again, if the old wolf's instinct is whispering _conquer, own, subjugate, make him yours_ , well, that's a completely separate instinct. He knows his inner wolf from his inner lawyer. Despite what Jessica says, they're not one and the same. And despite how many times Donna might roll her eyes, he knows what he's doing.

* * *

Even so, he doesn't face Mike when the associate enters his office, practically bleeding insecurity all over the carpet. Instead, Harvey gazes out the window, running his hand over his row of autographed basketballs. "You made a fool of Louis," he says. "And in the process you embarrassed me and put my secretary in a bind."

"How-- what?" Mike's voice blows through him like a plume of smoke, and Harvey's insides are crawling with want all at once. "Why are you defending Louis? Based on the way you talked to him..."

"I'm a senior partner." Harvey keeps his voice to a cold, sharp snap. "You are an associate, and Louis is your supervisor."

"You don't even know what happened."

"I don't need to know." Harvey turns and launches into a litany of law firm etiquette that's half made-up, half rules he's broken himself on many an occasion. It's nonsense, and he doesn't even know why he's saying any of it. The minute he turned around and met Mike's eyes, he's thought of nothing but how badly he wants to gather Mike up and strip him down, how he wants to cover every inch of pink-flushed skin with his mouth. And he's terrified by it, because as much as Harvey has taken everything he's ever wanted in his life, he's never once _needed._ And Mike's defiant pout is undoing that spotless record in a half-second.

He looks pale when Harvey's done, like he's going to crumple in on himself, and Harvey's survival instinct squashes the guilt that flares up in an instant. This is good for the kid. He has to learn his limits. Never mind that Harvey himself never did.

* * *

Mike trudges away from the office feeling like a little boy in his father's clothes. Indignant frustration is still boiling deep in him, but his core is shaken, off-balance, and he doesn't feel an iota of the bravery that's gotten him through the first half of the day. He shouldn't let Harvey get to him like this. Harvey's only doing what he has to as a boss, as the responsible adult leading a pup like Mike into the workforce. Mike's infuriated by the thought, but he's got no energy to follow through on his frustration. It's just there, throwing him, taking the confidence out of his steps.

He's got to make the reservation for his freshman dinner. He can't remember the name now. What was it? Douglass's? That's too many "s"es in a row, it doesn't sound right. But he can't bring the correct version to mind now. It's just vanished. How can he go from the intense competence of this morning to this level of absent-mindedness?

His cell phone rings, and he blinks blankly at the number for a moment, unable to place it."Hello?"

"Mike." The lush, musical voice is one he hasn't heard in two days. "It's Jenny."

Mike's heart pounds furiously against his ribs. "Uh, hi."

"What's happened to you? Your landlord says you didn’t come home the other night. After what happened with Trevor, I've been worried sick."

"Don't be. Everything's fine." If he were on the other end of the line, he wouldn't believe himself. "I got a job, is all. A good one."

"Yeah?" He can practically hear her cheeks flush with color over the phone. All at once she's pleased as punch. "What kind of a job?"

"One I don't deserve," he says automatically, and then laughs, guilty. God, that is not something any self-respecting alpha would say. "I'm kidding. It's a good job. I'll tell you all about it another time." A gaggle of associates pushes its way past him, all curly mops of hair and impeccable collars, laughing.

"Well, don't forget about us." Jenny's voice is vaguely reproachful.

"No, of course not." Rachel's approaching from another side, and Mike needs to remember to ask her about the restaurant. She passes by staring at him with an odd look on her face, and Mike's instantly embarrassed to be on the phone with Jenny, standing uselessly in the middle of the hall, as Rachel and the rest of the firm move at breakneck pace.

He starts after her, one hand holding his phone loosely near his ear as Jenny's voice comes through tinny and nearly forgotten. "Listen, Mike. You should know, Trevor is--"

"Just a sec," he says as Rachel turns into her office and beckons at him to come in. "Jenny, I got to go, I'll call you again soon, OK?"

"Mike!" Her voice is petulant, but he hangs up anyway. Eyes on the prize. He can't lose the progress he's made today toward securing his place in the firm, no matter how sub-par he's feeling, no matter who yells at him and who calls him. Freshman dinner, gourmet restaurant, kick-ass work, Harvey's approving face again. The end. That's what matters.

Rachel waves him into a chair and goes about her business, looking several things up in giant tomes and licking her finger to turn pages as she goes, a movement that would be seductive if Mike could feel seduced by her. It seems a waste, he thinks. If by some chance she's doing that on purpose, she's wasting her effort. Mike's not an alpha, and there's nothing he can do about it. That's one area where he can't fake it just through attitude.

"You look confused," she says finally, without looking up. "Harvey read you the riot act?"

"Maybe," he says, shrinking in his seat, feeling transparent as a sheet of cellophane.

"Don't let him get to you," she says, and he feels like snapping, _easier said than done!_ But Rachel's in the same spot as him, more or less. She's an omega in an alpha's world, trying to get by. She's drawn her own boundaries, and if she can uphold them through sheer willpower, he really ought to be able to do the same.

But then again, she hasn't found herself so enamored of Harvey that his every disapproving look has the force of a hurricane. Mike's got emotional whiplash from the whole encounter. He's red as he sits in Rachel's chair, just thinking about it.

"God," she says suddenly with a laugh. "You're like a different person than you were an hour ago."

He panics. "I am not," he says. "And Harvey didn't 'get to me.' I'm just tired from working that late."

She's leaning forward in her chair now, examining him. "No," she says slowly, "there's something very different."

Mike draws back before she can get any closer. All she has to do is turn on her wolf's senses and take a sniff. The indecision and nerves in his blood will smack of omega DNA, and Rachel’s too smart to rationalize it away. She'll have questions. And she's not the only one.

Mike's head is spinning from the highs and lows he's traveled in this single day. Is it the lack of sleep? Is he having mood swings? But his mind's still as active as ever. It's his instincts that aren't behaving, like he's fading in and out of that primal, intuitive space that makes a wolf different from a run-of-the-mill human. One minute he's matching wits with Harvey, the next--

Harvey. The realization rockets through him, and, rattled, he sits forward in his chair. Rachel's exclamation of surprise sounds faint and far away – the world's gone muted, except for two sharp points of focus: himself and Harvey, two ends of one rope. When they're close, there's no tension; when they're tugged in opposite directions, everything goes taut.

Mike springs from his chair. "I've gotta go," he says. "I forgot why I came in here. The restaurant. Doogle's?"

"Dougal's." She writes the name on a slip of paper and hands it to him. "Try not to lose it."

She doesn't need to worry. Once it's on paper and in front of Mike's eyes, it's committed to memory. What he's got to do now, though, that's much less certain. It's going to take all his courage.

* * *

"You have to take me home."

Mike's fists are balled, and his eyes are burning clear and bright. Harvey stops, only half zipped-up, and takes a preliminary sniff to see if there's anyone hiding in the stalls, but only the regular, antiseptic smells of bathroom cleaner and paper towels lie under the brilliant, bright force of Mike's scent. And his scent is everything that's right with the world. Harvey's tempted to just nod and push forward, pull Mike through the doorway into the bathroom, and cover his impudent mouth with kisses.

He fights the haze of hormones with every ounce of grace he can muster. "Why?"

"Because." Mike steps in, steps toward him. The tiles of the bathroom amplify his footsteps and his voice alike. "It's you. When you're close to me, I can feel like an alpha. When you're pissed off at me or you push me away, I can't pull it off anymore. You're my battery, Harvey. I need you to juice me up."

Harvey scoffs. "That's not how it works."

"It is if you're bonded."

Disbelief clangs an ugly tone in Harvey's skull. "What?"

"You have to have heard about it." Mike's close enough to touch now, and his hand vibrates at his side, like he's trying to fight the urge to reach up. The movement is so earnest, so passionate, that Harvey finds himself staring, battling his own urges as Mike talks. "Think about it, Harvey. We met under a full moon. If we bonded that night, that means we're connected. I need you, or I won't be able to keep acting like I belong here."

Harvey scowls. "You can't brush off every screw-up because I didn't give you enough support. I'm not responsible for keeping your charade up."

"But you are. You're the one who started this. If I get found out, the hammer's going to come down on you." Mike's eyes are dancing now, even over his frown, and the look of him is confusing and maddening. Harvey's mind is working overtime trying to find a way to turn this situation to his advantage, and it's increasingly a strain to keep his pose casual. Fuck, but all he wants to do is grab Mike and croon a million dirty promises in his ear. And the image of Mike in his apartment, among his things, _in his bed_... it's killing him.

"I should fire you," he murmurs.

"No, you shouldn't." Mike dares to smile. "Look how much I’ve gotten done for you in the past few days." His hands finally rise and press flat against Harvey's chest. They might as well be hot irons for the impressions they make. "It's a win/win."

"There's no such thing as a win/win. If there were, we wouldn't need lawyers." Damn his mouth for turning upward into a smile. Damn his feet for shuffling closer.

Mike rises up onto his tiptoes, pushing into Harvey's space. "Take me home, Harvey."

"If you get your work done, I'll think about it."

"Kiss me and I'll get my work done." His lips are too close. It's not fair.

Harvey grabs the back of his head, yanks at his hair and tips his head back. His mouth comes down on Mike's parted lips like he's trying to bruise; Mike whimpers a soft plea and slides his hands up and over Harvey's shoulders. Their bodies press together like magnets, seeking to fill in every hole between them. Every slide builds up static electricity, delicious friction. Harvey groans low into Mike's mouth and swipes his tongue over Mike's once, twice. He backs off, biting back another groan, and no amount of lawyer-talk can disguise the way his breath is coming short, the rumple of his suit or the tent in his pants.

Mike's whole face has lit up. He wipes his lips and grins. "See you at the end of the day."

* * *

Turns out Harvey has a driver, a nice fellow named Ray who takes him everywhere. When Mike slides into the back seat next to Harvey, after shaking Ray's hand and introducing himself as Harvey's new associate, he nonetheless gets a number of curious stares from the front seat.

Finally he asks. "Is there, uh, something in my hair?"

"You're not like Harvey's previous associates," Ray replies coolly.

Mike's ass suddenly itches. He shifts in his seat. "How so?"

"Well, for one thing, you've survived 48 hours."

Mike thinks Harvey snickers next to him, but when he looks up, he sees the same expressionless stone face that's been riding alongside him since the office. It's like sharing a car with an Easter Island statue.

Then Ray tells a joke that Mike doesn't get, and Harvey's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, and Mike's so distracted by the sheer cuteness of it that he can't breathe, much less ponder the meaning of Ray's words, the whole way home.

* * *

Mike steps into Harvey's apartment like a six-year-old enters a candy shop, eyes bright with curiosity and mouth curved up into a mischievous smile. He's perfect there, his suit dark against the wall's pristine white paint, his eyes reflecting blue glints at every trinket that catches his eye. "This is a nice pad," he says, and he sounds amazed by his own understatement. Harvey watches him with something akin to pride. Mike fits in here so very well. Just like he's fitting in at the firm. Harvey wants him to succeed, and not just because it reflects on Harvey (though, he would hasten to add, that is the _primary_ reason.)

Harvey could just sit back and watch him like this for a good long time, see the minute expression play across his face as he peeks into cabinets and runs his thumb across rows of books on the shelves. He nods, discerningly, as though he's the ultimate judge of literary integrity, and Harvey just smirks. Mike's a boy playing at being a man, and Harvey is a man playing at boy's games, and he just wants to wrap Mike up and absorb all his precious youth.

He really ought to be terrified. If what Mike said about bonding is true, that means Harvey gave up a huge piece of himself without even knowing it. He's not inclined to charity, particularly not the coerced kind, and he'd much rather choose who gets the benefit of compatibility with his pheromones. The idea that he’s vulnerable to some sort of pre-destined moonstruck madness unsettles him.

But just looking at Mike, ignoring all the legend and the implications, Harvey can’t imagine that he was in anything but his right mind when he opened up his life, his work, his arms. Mike’s just stunning, spiky hair and round eyes and skinny body, and he’s smart, and hard-working, and full of the beauty of optimism. And maybe Mike’s right. Maybe this is a win/win situation after all.

Or maybe he’s just looking for an excuse to listen to his instincts. Fine. Excuse found.

He crosses the room in two loping steps, gathers Mike up in his arms so quickly he gets those round eyes turned to his in surprise, and presses in as close as he can get without locking their mouths together. Mike’s chest burns hot against his, and Harvey’s sure he can feel the uncertain thudding of Mike’s heartbeat.

It’s heat like a low hearthfire, golden and enveloping, but not overwhelming, and Harvey thinks he could stay here forever, just crushed against Mike, listening to him breathe. But Mike’s hands are impatient things, skittering up his back and folding under his collar, fingers brushing his hairline. Harvey shifts against him and finds the air harder to breathe after the momentary friction of their bodies moving ever so slightly. He fights back the urge to mutter a bad word, afraid to be the one to break the silence.

Mike’s lips were parted to say something, but the movement silences him. Instead, he swallows hard and then gasps in a lungful of air. His cock, a hard, enticing lump, is rolling slowly against Harvey’s, and Harvey realizes with slow horror that he’s rolling back, that they’re just grinding leisurely into each other, without even kissing, unconsciously stoking the friction between them. He realizes, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. He just grounds the wild electric charge, closes the circuit, by finally brushing his mouth against Mike’s, then settling there.

It’s like bursting open. A thousand nerve endings that were lying dormant start to sizzle under Harvey’s skin. He growls, loses patience with just kissing, gnaws at Mike’s lower lip, lifts him into his arms. Mike’s skinny legs wrap easily around Harvey’s waist and Harvey doesn’t even feel the weight of carrying him, just moves and Mike’s body moves with him -- across the floor, through the doorway, onto the big four-poster bed and down. Mike comes to life underneath him, squirming, gasping, reaching out for more. The cool sheets play havoc with Harvey’s senses in between the hot touches of Mike’s fingers and mouth. It’s a relief when Mike pulls the tie from his neck, because Harvey was starting to be unable to breathe.

Mike breaks the silence, hissing Harvey's name and then crying it out when Harvey's mouth assaults his neck. Harvey sucks in air around Mike's skin at the sound, then bears down on him twice as ferociously, his groin throbbing as he grinds down. But grinding isn't enough, and he's hungry for more skin. He pulls up, sets his fingers to work on Mike's buttons, and pulls the obstinate cloth of his shirt free.

"Fuck," Mike breathes, rocking up against him and tossing his head back. His body arches, and the sight of it nearly does Harvey in.

Harvey sucks his way down Mike's chest to his stomach, working at his fly as he goes, and thousand-dollar pants crumple their way to the floor, forgotten. It's not like Harvey to care so little about expensive clothes, but it's not like Harvey to want to fuck his associate into the mattress, either. All those little concerns, like tradition and etiquette, don't have a place in the face of this enormity of feeling. Harvey would throw everything away if it meant he could have Mike, right now, right here.

The desperation scares him, and he takes a moment to just cling to Mike, breathing hot against his skin, arms wrapped around him. Mike's hand finds his hair and pets it, and Harvey can feel him searching for words. "Don't say anything," he warns, and Mike nods.

When they kiss again, it ignites Harvey's whole body. Mike's tongue strokes his and wild warm electricity jitters its way down his spine. He doesn't want to break the kiss even to shed his own clothes, and for the few seconds it takes to pull away and get naked, he's freezing.

Mike's mouth drops open at the sight of Harvey's cock, the knot at the base bulging and the head red and smooth. He reaches out for it, runs his fingertips over it, and Harvey's head snaps back, a cry tearing from his mouth.

"Oh, my God," Mike murmurs. "Oh, my God, Harvey, you've got to fuck me." He moves quick, catlike, turning over and slithering down the bed until he can fit his mouth around Harvey's cock, another warm wash of sensation that makes Harvey shout again.

"You better believe I'll fuck you," Harvey murmurs when he can control his voice. "You're going to have trouble walking tomorrow morning."

"Mm." The vibrations of Mike's voice send shudders through Harvey's whole body. He pulls off and grins. "Just in the morning?"

"Especially in the morning." Harvey pushes him down onto the bed again, reaches for the lube that Mike's taken out of his jacket pocket. "Cause I'm still gonna be inside you when morning comes."

"Shit... Harvey." Mike arches, raises his legs and rolls back so Harvey can get at his ass. When Harvey inserts one finger, he shakes violently.

"Well, you said I'm your battery," Harvey says wryly as he works at Mike's hole. Fingers stretching, curving, learning what angles and pressure points make Mike cry out and shudder. His other hand strokes gently up Mike's thigh, zips along his perineum and cradles his balls. Mike's shouting, and his cock is starting to glisten with pre-come. "I'd better charge you up so good you can keep going for days."

"Fuck me," Mike begs, breathless. His eyes, glazed and wide, search for Harvey's. "Fuck me now, Harvey, before I come just waiting for it." He's panting, and more pre-come is sliding down his cock and dripping onto his stomach. Half of Harvey wants to wait and see if he really does come just waiting for it. Well, a little less than half. Maybe an eighth. Or a hundredth.

The rest of Harvey groans and launches forward, pushing inside him and settling in a single stroke.

"Shit!" Mike's cry is muffled under the force of Harvey's mouth. His body spasms under Harvey's, and his teeth come down hard on Harvey's lower lip. Harvey growls and bites back, sucking on Mike's upper lip and grazing his teeth across it until Mike breaks away and rolls his head to the side, moaning. "Oh, fuck, Harvey-- so _full._ " His ass is like fire around Harvey's cock, rim stretching as Harvey's knot bulges just inside. It's too hot to be believed, and Harvey's sure he's making his own noises as he rocks forward, feels Mike's body under his. He licks his way to Mike's ear, sucks on the lobe, and launches downward to his neck. One hand finds a hard nipple and tweaks it between two fingers. Mike arches hard, shouting Harvey's name, and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Gonna come for me?" Harvey murmurs, sucking kisses into Mike's collarbone. "Go ahead." He pinches Mike's nipple, forces the words out though he can barely breathe. "Gonna make you come so many times tonight, Mike. That's a promise."

"Harvey!" The name rips hard from Mike's lips and he shudders violently. His nails dig into Harvey's back and his hips snap up as he comes, spilling all over his stomach, a few dots of white flying up to fleck on Harvey's abs. Harvey watches in amazement. Mike coming with Harvey's name on his lips is possibly the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.

Even after his orgasm is good and done he's still spasming, muscles clenching and unclenching, lips sucking in breath, head tossing on the sheets. Harvey's lost control of his own thrusts, the rhythm happening without him thinking about it, the heat its own engine of energy and motion. His orgasm jolts him forward like a car shrieking to a sudden halt -- he cries out and and seizes Mike hard, holding on tight as it shakes through him and leaves him panting, sticky, pressed into Mike's skin, caked with sweat and trembling all over.

"Harvey, oh God." Mike's covering his face with kisses, breathing shortly, petting his hair. "So good."

"Nng," Harvey agrees, licking Mike's skin with a wide, lapping tongue. His knot is throbbing at the base of his cock, and Mike's ass is clenching around it, on purpose this time, teasing him. Harvey gives a helpless groan and tries to hold his head together. He's so full right now, his knot so engorged. There's no way they're uncoupling anytime soon, but the heat is stifling. Still joined, they fall sideways on the bed so Harvey can cool himself against the sheets. He's crushing Mike's leg, but Mike's not complaining, just groaning and going with it, a foolish smile still on his face.

Mike reaches out after a few minutes of silence and trails his fingers down Harvey's chest, catching in the barely-there tangle of hair. His looks as though he's about to speak, but no words come forth, and Harvey closes his eyes and just enjoys the absent stroking. His mind is awash in bliss, and although he's sure he should be thinking of a million things right now, he just can't. His brain is deadened by pleasure.

He doesn't notice Mike's started moving again until a low sound pushes its way free from Mike's lips. Harvey's eyes have been half-closed, and now he opens them to see Mike starting to work himself on Harvey's cock again. He reaches out and grabs Harvey's shoulders, just holding himself stead as he grinds his hips. Harvey looks down incredulously to see Mike's cock half-hard, still glistening with the aftermath of his orgasm. "Already?" he murmurs, only halfway surprised at Mike – the rest of his surprise is at himself, for not being asleep yet.

Mike grins. "It's been a while since you've done this."

"It has not."

"Not sex. I mean, knotting someone." Mike gyrates and makes an obscene noise. A sudden lurch of hot want takes Harvey by surprise, and he hears himself moan, feels his own cock twitch inside Mike. Is it always like this? He can't recall, but it seems so soon. It can't have been five minutes.

"Fuck, Harvey." Mike cranes forward to drop a kiss onto Harvey's collarbone. It lands like a burning brand.

Mike kicks his whole body back, laying his ankles up on Harvey's shoulders. His body arched, his nipples hard and abs rippling, he looks like something out of a pornographic magazine, and Harvey stares across the sheets as Mike twists and drops his head off the edge of the bed, groaning, thighs pumping as he works himself harder over Harvey's cock.

It's all Harvey can do to just stare at him. Mike's moving as though possessed, his body writhing, and his cock's hard again now, red and swollen. Harvey wonders briefly what it must be like to be an omega, this possessed by want and lust that Mike can just enjoy being breached and penetrated this way, with total trust in Harvey and total abandon of his dignity. Or maybe there's nothing undignified about this at all. Maybe there's that much deep joy in giving oneself over. It makes Harvey want to give back, to clutch Mike close and cover his body with soft kisses. Affection swells his heart, and it bruises as it rides against his ribs. Hardening again, he begins to answer Mike's gyrations with his own, and Mike groans deliriously and grabs Harvey's arms again, working himself back and forth like a machine.

He takes a deep breath and lets out a litany of hissing whispers. "Fuck, Harvey, you're knotting me so good, so fucking big inside me, Jesus, that's so good."

"Shit," Harvey whispers as his cock fills out, twitching with need, and Mike squeezes around it instinctively. The next thing he knows, Mike's pushing him down, rising up on top of him to ride him. He's dripping with sweat, shoving himself forward and down against Harvey's hips, body shaking as he reaches forward to stroke his own cock. Harvey reaches out to touch it, too, their fingers touching on the swollen organ, and Mike tosses his head from one side to the other, letting out a cry. His breathing is coming fast and hard, and Harvey's eyes are wide watching him, marveling at his stamina. He must be exhausted, his lungs must be bursting, and yet he's so possessed by the need that he doesn't care. Mike's a hell of a hard worker, and when he comes again it's like a fountain, spilling out between his fingers and arching into the space between them. The moment plays over and over behind Harvey's eyelids when he closes his eyes, and pleasure flows bright and constant through every fiber of his muscles and every tingling inch of his skin. When his second orgasm comes, Harvey's weightless, hips lifting into the air with Mike's full weight still on them, but Harvey can't feel it, can't feel anything but the rip of sensation tearing his cells apart.

They've set their rhythm for the rest of the night. They're exhausted, half-dozing in each other's arms, Harvey still buried in him. And then after three or thirty minutes, or perhaps it was thirty seconds, Mike hisses, his skin coming alive again, and he starts his lazy movements. They kiss lazily, slowly, exploring, until they can't stand it any longer, and Mike takes the lead, jerking forward and starting to move in earnest. And it's watching him, stunned at his flexibility and his honest intensity, that Harvey starts to hurtle toward another orgasm. Mike comes first, Harvey tumbling after him, and they cry out until their voices are raw and their bodies collapse again. And then, thirty seconds or three minutes or a half-hour later, it starts all over.

By morning Harvey's covered in Mike's come and his own as it trickles down Mike's thighs; he's sweaty; he feels faint and dehydrated and craving protein. And he's fully aware of the extent of the bond between them. If there was any doubt that he and Mike had soul-bonded, it's been wiped away in the heat of their night together. And as loath as he would normally be to admit it, Harvey has no reason now to deny that he'd do anything for Mike. Maybe it had been that way since they met under that full moon. Either way, there's nothing he can do about it now. Nothing, that is, but embrace it.

For Harvey Specter, it's a new day.

10:30 a.m. on a new day, to be precise.

Cursing, extracting himself from the deep-sleep tangle of Mike's limbs, he climbs out of bed and hurries his way to the shower and work. Mike might be his soulmate, but Harvey's got clients. And when his associate finally wakes up and gets his ass to work, Harvey's gonna rip him a new one. No reason to go easy on him just because they're in love.

Besides, now Mike has a guarantee Harvey will make it up to him later.


	5. Chapter 5

Dougal's is a sea of deep reds and violets, from the couches at the entrance to the drapery in the back. The restaurant's logo is a half-full wine glass, angled just enough that it looks like it's about to spill over, and the décor makes Harvey think there were a few too many unfortunate spills while they were setting the place up. But the wine list is appropriately impressive, and as he wanders through the throng of well-dressed diners waiting for their tables up front, he has to nod in approval. Once more, his associate has done right.

He suspects Rachel had a hand in it, as the two of them are always giving each other knowing looks, but that doesn't matter. It's about the choice, not how you arrived at it, and Mike has chosen well. In more arenas than a freshman dinner, he thinks with a half-smirk.

He feels Mike before he sees him: that shaky brand of cautious happiness that pervades his aura is riding high in the air, and Mike's scent has traveled this same route on his way in. The want is already building itself up under Harvey's skin, but after the previous night, he's much more able to control it. In fact, he's learning to rather enjoy just wanting Mike, letting the desire itch beneath his fingertips without needing to give him voice. It's a delightful anticipation, like opening up a bottle of wine that needs to be aired before it can be enjoyed. The scent is too much, and too much is just enough.

And there Mike is, his face bright with life, having an earnest chat with another associate, one of the ones who doesn't act like his life's mission is to make Mike miserable. He's starting to fit in, Harvey thinks with almost paternal pride. And he is acting like an alpha, too – confident, full of easy humor, albeit with an undertone of anxiety, but that can easily translate itself to being a newbie. Even alphas get nerves, they're just less likely to show them.

Mike's eyes connect with his, and another shot of powerful desire makes its way down Harvey's spine and shoots down his legs to his toes. Another sensation to be savored. Harvey takes in a breath, calms his hormones, and gives Mike an easy wave. Mike nods, but continues his conversation, and that's as it should be. Harvey will order a glass of red wine from the bar and wait for his chance.

He's found, first, by Jessica, who's parting the crowds of people with her very presence, as usual. She stands a good head taller than Harvey when she's wearing heels, and it would be intimidating if he didn't know her so well, if they didn't have the history they share. It's because of Jessica that Harvey's able to look at her without the slightest sheen of intimidation, that he challenges her with such impudent abandon. She taught him to be that kind of man. And tonight her cool grace is tempered by the same kind of parental pride Harvey's starting to feel for Mike – among other feelings that don't belong in that analogy, of course.

"You made a good choice," she says, casting her eyes at Mike, who has just sent a small group of suit-clad associates into laughter with a well-placed quip.

"So did you," he teases.

"The jury's still out on that." Her rejoinder is, as always, too perfectly timed. She's one of the few people in the world who can make Harvey sputter. "I have to say, Harvey, I'm impressed. You're acting like a real mentor."

"Why would you get that impression?"

Jessica chortles. "Oh, don't worry. I'll keep it to myself. Your reputation is intact."

"I appreciate that. He's--" Harvey glances at Mike, who catches his eye and smiles briefly before returning to his conversation. "He's a good kid."

"Harvey, listen." Jessica's smile fades, and she puts down her glass. "I don't want to alarm you, but I got a phone message earlier today from someone who claimed to know--"

"Harvey!" A warm hand on his arm, and Harvey's attention is stolen away completely. Whatever Jessica's concern is, it has nothing on the flush of Mike's cheeks, the grin spread across his face as he welcomes Harvey to the party. "I thought for sure you'd be out seducing some rich potential client." Harvey frowns. "Metaphorically, I mean."

"Well. What kind of _mentor_ would I be if I didn't show up?" Harvey drips sarcasm all over the word for Jessica's benefit. Her snort of derision is satisfying. "Looks like you're doing well."

"I'm sort of dreading the bill," Mike says, leaning in as though imparting a confidence. "But other than that, yeah, it's going well."

"And the strip joint?"

Jessica blinks. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, didn't you hear?" Harvey smiles casually at her. "Louis tried to trick my associate into holding the freshman dinner at La Palais. Apparently he had an idea about establishing Mike's reputation."

"He would not."

Mike's grin goes devilish. "I think it's a great idea."

He goes on as Jessica stares, open-mouthed, and Harvey smirks. "Of course, I won't be able to make it-- big meeting Friday on that worker's comp case Harvey asked me to prepare for – but if the guys want to go, I can't stop them. But the reservation is in Louis' name, so I'm sure he'd be happy to finance an after-party."

"Oh, my God." Jessica slaps her open palm to her forehead. "You really _are_ mentoring him."

As for Harvey, he's too busy smirking like a cat with a mouthful of canary to say anything.

"Speaking of which." Mike leans over onto the bar to set down his glass. In the process, his body brushes Harvey's, a simple contact that nonetheless ignites all of Harvey's nerve endings and sets him jittering inside. "I wanted to discuss one aspect of that case with you, if you have a minute. Can we step into the coatroom for a second? It's quieter in there."

He angles his body so the protrusion of the lube in his jacket pocket brushes Harvey's skin.

"Excuse us," Harvey says quickly to Jessica, and leaves her there before she can comment on the sudden hoarseness in his voice.

* * *

"Harvey..." Mike can't get the words out. He's clawing at the wall, fingers sliding over the painted surface, and around him the air is claustrophobic with the scent of thick fabric everywhere. They're behind the last coat rack, the sounds they're making muffled by layers and layers of down and fur, but Mike's still halfway terrified they're going to get caught. Harvey fucking him would be clear proof he's an omega, and they can spout off about a soul bond all they want but it's not going to make a difference when they break apart, Mike's hormones still wafting a desire for possession into the air, with a thousand alpha wolves outside who think they own the world. Once they get the scent, they'll recognize it anywhere, even inside a crowded office.

But none of that matters when Harvey's mouth is on his neck and Harvey's hands are snaking down to undo his fly, fancy suit nothing but an obstruction in the desperate search for skin and human warmth. Mike's straining against his zipper, his briefs are torture, and he wants nothing more than to get free and naked, damn the consequences. "Harvey, please," he's begging, and the more he squirms the more turned on he gets, the harder it is for Harvey to stretch the elastic over his cock and bring him out into the open.

He thinks he's going to get fucked up against the wall, but instead of the slick push of fingers he gets pulled, pried up and turned around, and then oh God an absolute miracle, Harvey's on his knees, Harvey's pressing him against the wall and breathing on his cock hot and damp and Mike is going to die right now right here.

"I can feel you worrying," Harvey breathes. "Nothing to worry about if they see me sucking your dick, right?"

Mike swallows hard and manages to shake his head. He tries to look down and meet Harvey's eyes, but then Harvey's mouth is swiping hard against the head of his cock, and it's endlessly wet, and Mike's head rolls back against the wall despite his best efforts. "Fuck, Harvey, _shit,_ " he moans.

"Who's the alpha now?" Harvey murmurs, and the vibrations soak through the head of Mike's cock and into the pit of his stomach. He reaches forward, clutches Harvey's hair, pulls, and Harvey gives a noise of mixed pain and need that explodes through Mike's gut like a ball of fire. He moans and dares to thrust his hips forward, push his cock deeper into Harvey's mouth. Harvey takes it all, gives a guttural groan as his lips wrap around Mike's cock, and sucks so hard Mike thinks he'll explode.

He rides on the edge of orgasm forever, the heat building up unbearably, his teeth gritted and his head thrown back against the wall. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this is a reward – Harvey's giving him everything, giving him the power and as much pleasure as he can stand, and he can't for the life of him tell why. Why would Harvey give him all this? Unless Harvey has accepted that they're bonded, that this is more than just alpha/omega lust between them. But is that possible? Can someone as cool and detached as Harvey actually learn to feel?

Mike looks down, tugs on Harvey's hair until Harvey's eyes meet his. Suddenly he knows the answer, and that's when he can't keep his orgasm back any longer.

* * *

Jessica's back is to them when they return to the main room, and she's speaking with a couple Harvey doesn't quite recognize at this distance, though they look familiar. Social acquaintances, he thinks, or prospective clients he somehow didn't manage to land. But as he approaches, Mike straightening out his cuffs behind him, a prickle of warning goes up his spine, and he suddenly wishes he'd stayed in the coat room with Mike all night long.

His suspicion is confirmed twice: once by Jessica, who turns around, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips flat with suspicion. When her gaze falls on Harvey, it's like being sacked by a three-hundred-pound quarterback. And once more by Mike, who gives a soft whimper and steps back a step.

Still, Harvey doesn't put two and two together until Mike whispers, "Trevor."

Trevor turns his sharp features toward Mike. "I'd wondered where you'd gotten to," he said. "Doesn't happen a lot that one of my wolves disappears. Seriously, Mike? You didn't think I'd find you?"

Mike swallows hard. Harvey can feel his nerves from two feet away. "Trevor. Jenny."

"So you've been telling everyone that you ousted me," Trevor says, shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering forward. Jenny, the cute blonde from the full-moon night, is folding her hands over and over and biting her lower lip. Harvey eyes her, tries to tell where her sympathies lie. "That you were the one who clocked me and left me half-dead in Central Park. I don't know if I've ever told you this, Ross, but you're a terrible liar."

"I didn't leave you half-dead," Mike retorts. Good boy. He's keeping up the charade. Harvey's proud.

"You're absolutely right." Trevor sneers. "You didn't." His arm shoots out and he points at Harvey. "He did."

Jessica's eyes turn to Harvey; the rest of the room, associates and bartenders and Jenny, stare at Mike.

"You told everyone it was you," Trevor said. "Turning my whole pack against me, based on a lie."

"I don't need to turn the pack against you," Mike says. "Why do you think they didn't question it, even though they didn't see a thing? They don't want you, Trevor. You're an arrogant jerk and you treat everyone like crap."

"So it's true?" Jenny's voice, demure as it is, cuts through the air. "You lied? You didn't beat him?"

Mike stares at her. His gaze is suddenly free of guile. Panic starts to beat in Harvey's throat. He doesn't know this girl, but he can tell immediately that Mike's going to have a hell of a time lying to her.

Time to act. "Hold up," he says. "There's an easy way to settle this."

Mike turns to him, his eyes bright and wide with terror. "Harvey?"

"Out back," he says. "Have it out. We're all witnesses."

Mike starts, taking a deep breath as though he's about to shout. Jessica cuts forward between him and Trevor, holds them apart and stares slack-jawed at Harvey. "Harvey, tell me you are not actually advocating violence."

Harvey cuts Jessica off. "Jessica, you're someone I respect greatly, but you're not a wolf. This is how things are settled." He holds her eyes, puts on his most serious face. "At some point even a lawyer's bag of tricks runs out. This is primal instinct. These two both want the top of the pecking order. They _have_ to fight for it."

Jessica opens and closes her mouth, but she says nothing. The associates file out the door and round the corner to the parking lot in back.

* * *

Mike grabs Harvey's arm the first chance he can get. "I hate you," he hisses, trying to lean up to Harvey's ear.

"No, you don't."

"Shut up, I do. Why the hell did you even get involved? This is between Trevor and me."

"And me. You're my associate, what you do reflects on me. You think a real alpha wouldn't have demanded a fight?"

"Oh, so _now_ you're taking responsibility for what you did to me."

Harvey doesn't turn around. "Yeah," he says, "I am." There's vulnerability in his voice that Mike doesn't expect, and he stops, squints. Harvey turns.

"First time I saw you I couldn't figure out why the hell I wanted you so badly," Harvey says. His words are slow, clear, as though he's just realizing them as he speaks. Mike's transfixed. "I just knew I would have done anything at that moment, just so that meeting wouldn't be our last. Thought I was just being selfish. When I realized you were an omega, I thought, that settles it. I can have you if I want you. So I took you."

Mike waits for Harvey to continue, but no words come. "And now?"

The self-important smirk re-emerges. "And now I have you."

It's just Harvey being Harvey, but Mike's nerves are playing hell with him, and he can't help getting pissed. "Well, you're about to lose me again. You think I can take Trevor? He's been screwing me over my whole life. When he wasn't just screwing me."

He takes in a breath, surprised at himself. That was a low blow, and it landed well – Mike can see that from the way Harvey winces, the slight crumpling in his features. But nothing ever lands heavily on Harvey for too long, and in another instant Harvey's turned, and his eyes are bearing down into Mike's as heavy as iron weights. "Not anymore," he says. "You're mine now."

And despite everything, despite the buzzing of the circle around him as they emerge into the empty parking lot, despite Trevor's knuckles popping as he stretches and the rising smell of his pheromones as he begins to transform for combat, Mike really wants that to be true.

"I'm scared," he says.

"Don't be." Harvey pats his shoulder and smiles. "Confidence is everything, remember?"

The smile fades on his last word, and Mike's fascinated by his lips. It wasn't too long ago those lips were on him, giving him all the power and pleasure in the world. Given that, given the love that he saw shining in Harvey's eyes, is there really a chance he could lose everything now? Can he really find any reason to believe his life is about to come to an end, that he's about to be exposed and defeated for his new world to see – that world he had always wanted to be part of and never able to, until Harvey came along?

No. He nods resolutely. He won't let it. Harvey said it himself – Mike belongs to him now. And there's no way Harvey will let him fall.

He grabs Harvey's hand and squeezes it tight. Strength flows through him in waves.

"You've got the juice to do this," Harvey says lightly, but the word means more to both of them than just a simple metaphor. He's transmitting energy to Mike even with the contact, with the strength. Mike's fully charged and ready to take control of his life.

He turns to Trevor and howls his transformation to the moon.

Trevor comes at him quick, a flash of claws and hair, fangs out and eyes glinting with battle. Mike meets him in midair, and they tussle suspended for a moment before Trevor gets the upper hand and rolls Mike down onto the pavement. Mike tastes blood in his mouth, and he snarls, snapping upward to sink his teeth into Trevor's shoulder. Trevor hisses, but he doesn't let go, and Mike rolls backward on the concrete to throw him. Trevor turns in midair and lands on his feet, but Mike's back up by then, and they circle each other, snarling. Mike's dimly aware of the crowd around him, the gasps and the soft hisses. Harvey's half-transformed himself, so closely is he attuned to the combat. Mike can feel the energy bursting from his body, urging him onward, communication without a touch or a word.

He throws a blizzard of punches, grazes Trevor's jaw, then connects solidly with his cheek. The surprise of landing a blow freezes him an instant, and Trevor grabs his arm and yanks. Mike's feet leave the ground and he's dragged a half a foot before Trevor lets go. He's tasting concrete again, his hands coming down hard and leaving skin behind as they skid across the pavement. "Damn it," he whispers, and kicks himself to his feet. Trevor's charging at him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and Mike finds himself walking backward, pinned to the back wall of the restaurant, wedged between two cars. He flails wildly, and his fist catches auto glass. It doesn't break, but the jarring is enough to set off the car's alarm. It shrieks in his ear, and Mike winces as Trevor presses his nose to Mike's skin.

"You've got another guy's scent all over you," Trevor whispers. "That bastard over there. The hell is wrong with you, Mike? Fucking around like that. You belong to me."

Mike's brows angle down hard over his nose. "Fuck you, Trevor."

"You think you're better than me?" Trevor slams him in the face with a hard punch; Mike shouts in pain, his cheek abrading against the brick wall. Somewhere beneath the car alarm's deafening siren, Mike can hear Jenny shouting. He can picture her face, streaked with tears. Terrified. Not just because Mike is in trouble, but because if Mike loses, they all lose. Trevor stays top dog, and Jenny's stuck with him. He can't do that to her.

"I am better than you." He kicks forward, knees Trevor in the groin. Trevor falls back, groaning. "And so's Jenny. And so's everyone in our pack." His arm goes back automatically and this time he doesn't flinch when the punch lands – just keeps walking Trevor backward. "You know, being an alpha doesn't make you king of the world. You can be an alpha and still a dick." He lets a backhanded fist fly, knocking Trevor sideways onto the blaring car. Trevor slumps helplessly, trailing blood along the chrome as he slides across it. "Hell, you practically made an art of it."

He grabs Trevor by the collar, holds him up. Dimly he realizes he shouldn't have the strength to do that. He's smaller than Trevor, even transformed, and his muscles aren't as finely honed as they could be. But it's not just his strength he's wielding – it's Harvey's too, flowing across the air to build up inside him. Harvey, his battery, keeping him going. Mike catches his eye across the space between them, and Harvey nods.

"There's one thing stronger than a pack bond," he says. His voice is even and loud. "You know what it is, Trevor?"

Trevor looks at him through swollen eyes. His hands scramble to pull free from Mike's grasp, but Mike's extended arm is a line of pure steel.

"A soul bond," Mike says. Trevor's eyes widen and his lips part, but no sound comes out.

Mike throws him to the ground. "I don't belong to you." He raises his foot and plants it on the center of Trevor's chest, looking down and crossing his arms. "Not anymore."

There's a moment of pure silence. Then Trevor's head lolls back and his eyes close.

Mike feels the tension in the crowd break. A raucous cheer goes up. Jenny flings her arms around him. But he's only dimly aware of any of it. His blood is beating so fast in his body that he's afraid he's going to pass out. He flings a helpless gaze at Harvey, who runs to his side.

"I don't feel well," Mike manages to murmur. His knees are buckling.

"You're ascending," Harvey says. "It'll pass."

"Can't-- they'll all know it's just now--" But Mike's panic passes like a quick-moving cloud, and in another minute he's gasping in lungfuls of air like he's never breathed before. The ground is more solid beneath his feet than he's ever been. His gaze is clearing. And at once he's looking at the group around him and seeing equals.

He's an alpha.

* * *

Rachel has a glass of red wine in either hand, and when Mike returns to the restaurant, she's the only one left. "Where's everyone?" Mike asks, looking around.

"I suggested that while you were getting checked out they should hit La Palais after all. Rack up a good-sized bill for Louis." She tucks the red wine into his hand and closes his fingers around it. "I thought you'd appreciate it. So, clean bill of health?"

"Just scraped up," Mike says, touching the swollen bit at the edge of his lip.

"And your friend?"

"Don't call him that." Mike scowls. "He's not. Anyway, he's fine. Going home with his tail between his legs."

"Mike." Rachel leans in, touches his hand. "You weren't an alpha, were you? Until tonight."

"I--" But her look is so earnest that his will to lie falters. "You can't tell anyone."

She waves her wine glass absently; the liquid sloshes and for an instant he's afraid she's going to spill it. "Who am I going to tell? Anyway, you're an alpha now, so it's a non-issue. I guess I'm not going to see a lot of you from now on."

"What? No." Mike reaches out and steadies her glass. Their fingertips touch briefly. "Don't say that."

She draws back as though stung. "Mike, don't."

"What? What did I do?" But now that he has alpha blood in him, he can tell. "Oh, geez. Rach, I'm sorry. I would have told you."

"No, I was stupid. I thought you were an alpha, so I just naturally..." She shakes her head. "And now that you are--"

"But there's Harvey."

"Right." She smiles, and her smile is dryer and more bitter than the wine. "There's Harvey."

"Hey." Mike holds her gaze. "You're stronger than this. You're stronger than me. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have lasted the first day."

"And if it weren't for him, you wouldn't have had a first day." Rachel looks over his shoulder, and Mike closes his eyes. Harvey's scent, warm and rich, floats over him. His newly minted alpha blood starts to calm and recede – the soul bond at work. Rachel sees it happening, and she nods. "You're right. I'll be fine. You guys go home. I'll see you tomorrow." She stands, sips her wine, nods politely at Harvey, and moves across the floor to the bar. When they leave, she's engaging the bartender in small talk, as poised and together as ever.

"So," Harvey says as they head toward the car. "Now you're qualified to work at the firm. Kind of."

"Mm-hm." Mike tries hard to hold back a smile. "Kind of."

Harvey climbs into the back seat, nodding a hello at Ray. "Now we just have to worry about making you a real lawyer."

"Wait. Who said I'm not a real lawyer?"

"Are you going to tell me you are?"

"You offered me the job without checking."

"So you're not denying it."

"No way. You like me a little illegitimate."

The banter lasts until Park Avenue. But by the time they get to Harvey's sprawling apartment, Mike has come up with much better things to do than talk.

They make love all night, and in the morning, Mike wakes up with a strange nostalgia hanging over him. Or perhaps, he thinks as the sun washes hot rays over his body, it's not so strange after all. He's seeing the world from a new perspective, but alpha or omega, he's still Harvey's. And finding his way into Harvey's arms is, as always, just like coming home.

Which is great, except for Harvey's arms are nowhere to be found. They've headed to work along with the rest of him, leaving Mike sleeping peacefully.

And now he's late to work. Again.

Some things never change.


End file.
